


Health & Wellness

by PumpkinDoodles



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Blame the insurance carrier, Darcy is stuck taking SHIELD PE, F/M, I don't think your employer can even do this to you, I hope not, New Years Resolutions, PE trauma, She hates PE, Terrible SHIELD fitness policies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-10 22:41:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17434829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: Darcy Lewis has her New Year's Resolutions down. She and Jane only do fun things now. It's very cool. Or it was. Until SHIELD stuck everyone in a mandatory PE class. Now Darcy's alone, miserable, and keeping a graded food journal?Hell yeah, she's going to give her glowering, no-fun, probably no-sugar instructor the middle finger by writing in all the Snickers bars she eats and drawing his face with devil's horns in the margins.





	1. Employee Health Policy

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing! This is just me reliving all my childhood PE angst.

Darcy was riding the elevator at SHIELD’s new headquarters, aka, new headquarters for Team BAMF Self-Rescuing Princesses of Science!, carrying her and Jane’s coffee when one of their coworkers sighed. Audibly. “Those smell _so good._ I really want one,” she said. She gazed at the drink carrier like it was Cap in a tight t-shirt.

“They’re from downstairs. Triple shot mocha latte with skim milk and a caramel drizzle,” Darcy explained. The woman---her SHIELD ID badge said Toni--sighed again.

“Can’t. New Year’s Resolution is to lose ten pounds,” she said. “Plain coffee, water, green tea, or almond milk is all I get.”

“I am so sorry,” Darcy said sincerely. The woman looked longingly at her latte and Darcy had to physically restrain herself from yelling _you don’t have to live this way!_ in a crowded work elevator.

 

Darcy never made resolutions to lose weight anymore. After their second near-death experiences, Jane and Darcy had decided to forgo punishment-type new year’s resolutions in favor of fun-oriented ones. Life was short, right? Plus, you know, murder aliens seemed to follow them everywhere. So, instead of vowing to lose weight, they added enjoyable activities to their planners every January. Darcy had downloaded a calendar of international holidays and notable days from a greeting card company, so now she and Jane celebrated National Pancake Day with homemade funfetti pancakes, treated themselves to new books on Jane Austen’s birthday, and--this was mostly Jane, admittedly--organized equal-pay demonstrations on International Women’s Day. This year, Darcy wanted to learn to make homemade Chinese food, take an art class, and read at least twenty books. Jane was going to do another equal pay demo, submit at least five papers to a journal (they were going to have to wiggle around their SHIELD NDAs), and not slap anybody. They were talking about a trip to New Orleans, too. All in all, their system worked better than the old one. Plus, a friend from Culver had tipped Darcy off to the Healthy At Any Size Movement and Darcy had--to her utter surprise--read about a study that suggested the ten pounds she’d been trying to lose since freshman year might actually mean she lived longer--provided the murder aliens didn’t show again. There was some weird correlation between being a smidge overweight on the BMI scale and living longer? Who knew?

“I am so glad that all my New Year’s Resolutions are fun. I met the saddest woman in the elevator. Her name was Toni and she coveted your latte,” Darcy told Jane as she carried their coffees into the lab. Jane was staring at her laptop screen. “She was dieting. I got you a mocha latte,” Darcy said.

“Have you looked at your work emails yet today?” Jane said, sounding nervous.

“Uh-oh, what did Fury add to the NDAs?” Darcy asked.

“It’s not the NDAs.” Jane was frowning and re-reading her screen.

“It’s not?” Darcy said, frowning. “Is it the travel money?”

“No,” Jane said. “It’s Trident National.”

“Our health insurance people?” Darcy asked. Now she and Jane had real health insurance. And dental.

“They’ve got a new policy. It’s called Health & Wellness 101? It means you get a policy discount if you take a class on fitness and healthy habits--” Jane said.

“So?” Darcy said, sipping her latte. Ahhh. It was truly the bean of the gods, the summit of all human beverages, her beloved, her delight...

“SHIELD has made it mandatory for employees to participate, so their insurance rates don’t go up,” Jane said flatly. “They’re scheduling forty-five minute blocks for everyone to take a physical fitness and nutrition class during the workday. We’re all being put in one.”

“SHIELD is making us take _PE?”_ Darcy said, horrified.

“SHIELD is making us take PE,” Jane said grimly.

 

***

Darcy hated PE. She was a klutz. She had naturally awful balance, a mild-to-moderate scoliosis that caused her back pain (along with the boobs), tight hamstrings, and tended to supinate her right foot because of an orthopedic issue, which meant she injured herself when she tried to run. She’d even worn a plastic ankle brace molded by a physical therapist to help stretch and align her ankle. PE had always been the worst part of every school year. Darcy hated team sports. She wasn’t competitive like that. She tended freeze, like a deer in the headlights. She was lousy at sit ups, couldn’t jump rope without tripping, was a slow runner, and always got picked last. She had been relentlessly bullied--both by other students and even her PE teachers.

 

Asshole PE teacher #1 in 5th grade, to another student during a group run: “Hurry up, Donald or even Lewis will beat you!”

Angry fellow student, when she stood still during volleyball in 7th grade: “Why don’t you fucking play?”

Substitute Asshole PE Teacher #2: “What’s wrong with you?” Said when Darcy had trouble balancing on her right foot. Loudly. In front of the entire class. She’d wanted to sink into the floor and die. She’d been in fourth grade then.

 

By far, her worst year of middle school had been the one where Asshole PE teacher #1--who somehow managed to follow her from elementary to middle school like a Stephen King nightmare--had made a crack about her “huge boobs” making her balance shitty, not her ankle issues, all in front of the class. He and Darcy’s mom had gotten into a screaming match in the principal’s office, ending with her mom threatening to sue him, the school, hell, even the lunch ladies. Somehow, they’d worked out a deal where Darcy took health online and helped out in the library as an assistant for credit instead of taking PE in eighth grade. But Darcy’s mom still fumed about how the principal had let the PE teacher get up in her face in the office and get away with it all--”if he treats _me_ like that and I’m a parent he just met, isn’t it obvious that he screams at the students?”

 

But Darcy was so happy checking in books with nice Miss Teri and Miss Kathryn, the librarians, and working in the stacks that she’d come home that afternoon and cried tears of relief. They’d worked out a similar deal in high school: Darcy took an online health class--with tests and quizzes--for transfer credit and did PE as an independent study under the supervision of the physical therapist who’d made her ankle brace and taught her stretches for her back. She was required to do a certain amount of in-home exercise, log it, and get her PT to sign the paperwork. She’d didn’t cheat. She was too terrified to cheat, afraid she’d end up getting screamed at in some awful team sport again. Instead, she did soothing stretch videos for old ladies from the library and her mom got her a stationary bike off Craigslist. That was when she got into music for real, because it was more fun to listen to music and daydream on the bike. She took the elective for working in the library, too. She’d decided that she loved music and books. At Culver, she’d taken an arts and literature elective that counted as PE called the Art of Walking. The nice creative writing professor who wrote nature books had them read Thoreau and look at landscape paintings and they got PE credit for observing nature during walks so many hours a week. Nice slow walks. It was still Darcy’s favorite PE experience that hadn’t happened in a library.

 

***

 

“I still don’t know how this isn’t a violation of my civil rights,” Darcy said that afternoon. They were waiting on their group assignment. “How can they do this?” She was already nervous and sweating. SHIELD was full of hyper-fit people. They’d have them all rollerblading or playing Murderball and she would get killed.

“At least we’ll be together,” Jane said. “I’ll watch your back, okay?”

“Thanks,” Darcy said, feeling a trickle of nervous sweat down her back. Jane was far more intimidating than Darcy, despite their similar stature, because she’d slapped Loki and screamed at Fury once. Also, wrestled Coulson for her flash drive in New Mexico. She had the physical fearlessness of, like, a pissed-off raccoon, Darcy thought.

 

“It’s here, it’s here,” Jane said, when her email dinged. She did a little whoop of joy. “Steve and Bucky! We got Steve and Bucky as instructors and the class isn’t until 11am. See, Darce, you’ll be fine. We know Steve and Bucky--they’ll understand you can’t do the climbing rope---plus Steve would totally catch you---Darce? What’s wrong?” she asked. Darcy looked sadly at Jane. She’d checked her email, too.

“We’re not in the same class,” Darcy said in a choked voice. “Mine is at nine am with instructors named”--she looked at her screen--”Rollins and Rumlow?”

“Oh no,” Jane said. “Oh no.”

 

Jane called Fury and tried to badger him into switching Darcy into her section on the grounds that she needed Darcy in the lab alongside her whenever she was working, but Fury refused. “You’re in Cap’s section, Foster. Do you know how many people want to be in Cap’s section? I can’t just move somebody into his section, there would be a riot outside my office,” he said.

“Fine, move me to Darcy’s section,” Jane said.

“Then I have a hole in Cap’s section and his entire waitlist is--I’ll say it again-- _rioting outside my office, Foster._ The computerized schedule is random and final.” He hung up the phone abruptly.

“Damn you,” Jane said into the receiver. She looked at Darcy. “I’m so, so sorry,” she said.

 

They got their welcome emails a few minutes later. Darcy looked at hers. There was an attached syllabus. _Fitness and Basic Self-Defense Using MMA 101._ “What the hell is MMA?” she said. Was it a drug?  She scrolled down, past the section of email addresses, office hours, and other contact info for the instructors. “Mixed martial arts? I’m taking mixed martial arts?” she said out loud. “Jane my units are--I’m not making this up--Cardio, Footwork, Punching, Kicking, and Defense.”

“Holy shit,” Jane said. “Mine doesn’t even _have_ a syllabus.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No, the email from Steve says our first day will be introductions and a Q&A/brainstorming session about healthier choices we can add to our current lifestyle. He says not to be intimidated,” Jane said. “That his approach to the course is very low-key and adaptable to all fitness levels. What does yours say?”

“Not low-key, that’s for damn sure. I’m supposed to read this twenty page article about cardiovascular health for homework and--oh God, oh God--”

“What?” Jane said.

“ _Bring a bathing suit to day one of the course, as we will be measuring your body-fat percentage in the immersion tank, the most accurate form of body-fat estimation…”_ Darcy read aloud from the screen. “We’re going to be standing around, in bathing suits in _January_ , while they dunk us like it’s a Baptist tent revival and yell out our fat percentages,” she said, horrified.

“I just feel like you’re being attacked right now and I don’t like it,” Jane said. “Not one bit.” She darted her eyes back and forth, furrowed her brow, and got the look of a clever raccoon. Which she would have been, had she been a raccoon. “What if I guilt trip Steve?” she said.

“Please,” Darcy said.

 

Guilt-tripping Steve didn’t work like Jane had planned. She’d cornered him in the cafeteria and he’d fixed her with a sympathetic look, but then he called over two men. “Rumlow, Rollins!” he said, waving. They moved over automatically. One was exceptionally tall and, frankly, terrifying. He had a face like a rabid coyote, Jane thought. The other was dark-haired, average in height, and less murdery about the face. Agent Murder Face’s possessed expression split into a beaming grin. “G’day, Cap,” he said. He was Australian.

“You’re Australian?” Jane said, shocked. The accent and grin were at odds with the whole murdery vibe.

“Too right,” he said, still beaming. The other man was watching her, more quietly.

“This is Jack Rollins, professional Aussie,” Steve said cheerfully, “and Commander Brock Rumlow, who runs STRIKE Alpha. He acts as my second on missions.” The dark-haired man nodded. “This is Dr. Jane Foster,” Steve continued. “Her assistant’s going to be in your class and she’s worried.”

“Darcy’s not athletic. She falls a lot, I don’t think she can do MAM--” Jane began.

“MMA,” Rumlow said.

“Whatever it is, she’s already having a panic attack over the bathing suit and the twenty-page syllabus with the units on kicking--”

“Bathing suits?” Steve said, raising his eyebrows. “Syllabus?”

“We’re doing baseline body-fat percentages on day one,” Rumlow said. “Just to give everybody a starting metric. It’s not a big deal.”

“It feels like a big deal,” Jane said stubbornly. This Rumlow guy blinked at her and looked confused. Or as confused as somebody with a coldly neutral, flat expression could look.

“It’s a metric,” he repeated. “You can’t achieve anything for sure without a starting metric. And this is a beginner’s class.”

“Don’t fret, Doc, we’ll take care of your friend, no worries,” Rollins said reassuringly.

 

***

“I can’t believe you don’t have to buy anything!” Darcy complained. They were shopping for health and fitness supplies. Largely for Darcy. She had a huge list on her syllabus. Jane just had a note from Steve about wearing the comfy clothes and supportive footwear of her choice and bringing a notepad and pencil.

“What are you getting again?” Jane said.

“I need a fitness tracker, exercise bands, an exercise mat, running shoes, something called a ten pound kettlebell, boxing gloves and tape--but there’s a note not to buy these until after they’ve fitted us, okay--a food scale, meal prep containers, and protein powder,” Darcy said. “Oh, and a food journal and pen or pencil.”

“Wow,” Jane said.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. They wandered down an aisle of Target where Darcy normally never went, because it didn’t have popcorn, perfume, wine, _or_ cheese. She did find a cute extra-cushy yoga mat. She’d chosen the cheapest fitness tracker, but she spent the money for a mat. She might use it in the kitchen as a non-skid mat later. She liked to bake. Mostly brownies. Or cake.

“Darce, I found kettlebells!” Jane called.

“What is--it’s a weight that looks like a bowling ball?” Darcy said, staring. “WTF.” She’d said the acronym out loud.

“Yep,” Jane said.

“This is so stupid,” she muttered. “And now I want kettle chips.”

“You’re highly suggestible,” Jane said.

 

***

Darcy felt acutely self-conscious as she stood in the line of bathing suit-clad SHIELD employees in SHIELD’s huge gym rooms. They were doing the body fat measurements first thing, of course. Rollins--the cheerful Australian one, called them “bathers’ suits” very cutely--had said they’d do intros after everyone had had a dip. So, Darcy was standing there in the retro-inspired suit she’d gotten from Modcloth, feeling all pale and short and completely devoid of muscle tone, while everyone else seemed taller, stronger, and had chosen athletic suits. How had she ended up in the class for the people who looked like they were already Olympic swimmers? She suppressed a sigh. Darcy had been hoping for a non-scary class buddy from accounting or maybe technical. A nice uncoordinated computer nerd or grandma she could laugh with when they failed to do their sit-ups in time or something. “Lewis, you’re up,” the other instructor called. The glowering, not Australian one. Clearly, no sense of humor. He was wearing a goddamn whistle and recording everyone’s information like it would help him defuse a bomb later.

“Great,” Darcy said.

“Age?” he said.

“Twenty-nine,” she said.

“Height?” he said.

“Five-three.”

“Weight?” he asked.

“One-hundred and forty-nine pounds,” she said loudly, jutting her chin out, like _you got something to say, pal?_ Most all the women before her--except for the Amazonian STRIKE agent who looked like Gwendolen Christie and probably didn’t take shit from anybody--hadn’t claimed anything higher than one-thirty-five, even if they were tall as heck. Screw that, Darcy thought. She wasn’t going to take shit about her weight, either. And anyway, one-forty-one was considered “healthy” for her height. She didn’t really see how eight extra pounds could be a health deal-breaker. She was just lightly padded, that’s all. And it was after Christmas!

“Okay. You need a hand into the tank?” Mr. I-Take-Myself-Seriously said.

“Uhh, no,” Darcy said, looking dubiously at the tank. She slipped off her flip-flops. You climbed into the tank of water and then they measured your body fat by displacement. There were steps, but they were probably slippery from everyone getting in and out. Darcy took her first step, holding tightly onto the hand rails. Then a second one. Almost ther--oh no. She lost her balance and Rumlow had to catch her.

 

_By grabbing her ass. Her actual ass._

 

“I gotcha. You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said glumly. It was freaking humiliating. She heard snickers, then heard Rollins’s distinctive voice, scolding, just before she sunk herself under the water. _What if I just stay here?_ she wondered. A too-short period of time later, he waved an arm over the tank and she got out, totally drenched.

“Okay, here we go, one step, second step, third step,” he said. He helped her down in a way she found overly condescending, then handed her a big towel. Darcy stepped aside, dried herself a fraction, and put her shoes back on. Someone else was already getting in the tank. “You’re at twenty-seven,” Rumlow said, startling her a little.

“Huh? I’m twenty-nine,” she said, confused.

“Twenty-seven percent body fat,” he said slowly. “You can go change.”

“Thanks,” she said sarcastically. Was Mr. Fitness so offended by the sight of her cellulite or something? She stomped towards the women’s changing rooms and showers. He could stick his whistle where the sun didn’t shine….Also, she hoped no one had seen her almost slip when her flip flops hit the tile floor.

 

It got worse. First, they had them get on treadmills and measured how far they could walk or run in ten minutes. A ton of the super-competitive types were cheering each other on for getting to a mile or more. An anxious Darcy---she hated being watched and she had _no music for this_ \--got about half a mile before Rollins called time on her. “Bonzer job,” he told her, clearly experiencing some sort of pity delusion. Then Rumlow tossed them those red rubbery dodge balls and Darcy had a mini-flashback, couldn’t catch hers, and had to chase it across the mat and to the corner of the room. She really was going to cry if people started to throw things at her. It turned out they were supposed to throw it, squat, and catch it. In one motion.

“Look,” Darcy said to Jack, when she’d chased hers three times, “I can catch. Or I can squat. I cannot do both. Pick one.”

“Squat,” he said cheerfully. “No worries. Just hang onto this old thing.” Once he’d walked away, Darcy sighed heavily. That was when she caught Rumlow giving her the evil eye. She was so, so tempted to stick her tongue out or yell _what, my dude?_ She would have done it in the lab. But she was also scared of him. It was a whole flight-or-rebel physical response she caught when in gyms, dagnabbit. If she was a smartass and then he got in her face, she’d probably cry. She’d already jumped every single time he blew that freaking whistle or yelled instructions at somebody.

Darcy was definitely experiencing a middle school flashback.

 

Finally, they were down to the last five minutes. Rumlow gave them a mini-lecture about doing their readings, keeping their food logs, and adding cardio to their routines. Then Jack smiled. “We’ll be breaking you lot into two sections,” he said. “So, you’ll have a primary instructor assigned to you. You can email us with questions, get feedback, ask for resources, all that. Group A includes Anderson, Burkhardt, Campbell, Diawalla, Eisenstein, Kennedy, Lewis --”

 _Please be Jack, please be Jack,_ Darcy wished fervently as he finished the list of names.

“--will all be assigned to Commander Rumlow,” he finished. “The rest of you beauts belong to me.”

 _Shit,_ Darcy thought. _I’m totally le screwed._

“Group A, a word?” Rumlow gestured for them to gather around him. “I’ll be checking your homework on Thursday,” Rumlow said.

“Homework?” Darcy said. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud. The guy next to her grinned.

“Checking your food journals,” Rumlow said. “I’ll be grading them for thoroughness. 80% of being fit is consistency over time.”

 

***

When she got back to the lab, Jane was gone to her own class. It made Darcy feel extra sad to be alone, somehow. She answered emails and felt bummed. Her mood declined even more. “How was it?” Jane said, as soon as she returned.

“I’m not ready to talk about it yet,” Darcy said. “Let’s pretend it never happened.”

“Okay,” Jane said. She was smiling, so Darcy assumed Steve hadn’t made her do anything too terrible.

 

At the end of the day, Jane and Darcy went home. She, Jane and Thor were sharing a condo. Darcy immediately made her favorite brownies. Pouting on the couch--her thighs hurt from the squats--she wrote it down in the goddamn food journal: _Almost half an 8x8 pan of brownies. They were delicious. I didn’t even bother with dinner._

 

“That bad, huh?” Jane said, walking into the living room.

“Everyone is fitter and more coordinated than me, it’s miserable,” Darcy said. “What was your class like?”

“Um, okay?” Jane said. Darcy could tell when Jane was lying, so she sat up.

“Don’t you lie to me, Jane Meredith Foster,” she said.

“I liked it, Darce. Steve had us do some stretches and talk about easy ways to get more veggies in our diet and we talked--those of us who wanted to--about our goals and medical issues. Steve talked about having asthma and how he can do more now, so he understands that not everybody can do everything, so we’ll each have an individual pace and an individual plan--”

“Jane,” Darcy interrupted. “You know I love you, but I really hate you right now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jan. 16th is Fig Newton Day! Darcy & Jane's holiday calendar, if you are inclined to celebrate: https://nationaltoday.com


	2. Feeling A Bit Stabby Today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Y'all are so super! Thanks for all your great comments and feedback. I feel so *seen* when I hear that other people loathed PE as much as I did. Thank you for validating my reality. :)

To Darcy’s utter shock, Jane got really into her class. It could have had _something_ to do with the teeny, tiny micro-crush she’d developed on Bucky Barnes. He was apparently shy, post-HYDRA---Darcy had met him a few times and he’d been really quiet and just smiled sweetly at her--but Jane said he warmed up a lot in her class and was extremely charming. She was always talking about him:

“Bucky gave me a great recipe for Romanian vegetable stew. It’s his Grandma’s, but vegetarian--”

“Bucky says that building your thighs might help you with your stability, Darce. I asked. His thighs are incredible, you gotta see them in shorts--”

“Bucky says that you need Epsom salts, they really work--”

“Bucky says ballroom dancers are some of the best athletes--”

 

Darcy found it oddly funny to see Jane so evidently swoony, but on his sixth Bucky story in a day, Thor finally broke. “I assure you that James of the Barnes and the Captain are a couple! They are lovers, Jane!” he yelled. He’d puffed up like a pissed off chicken. Even his hair looked a little offended. Jane looked at him like he’d grown two or three heads.

“I know,” she said. “Everybody knows that. Oh my God, they’re so cute, Darce. They hold hands! The other day, they kissed during class.”

“Awwwwww! That’s really sweet,” Darcy said.

“Bucky says you might enjoy a spin class, Darce. We were brainstorming fun cardio after class yesterday--” Thor groaned and put his head on the table. Jane continued talking about Bucky, spin class, and maybe getting a family massage package at a local place. She and Jane usually pretended to be siblings to qualify for family packages.

“Okay, I’ll go to spin class, Jane,” she said, sensing that Jane was really on a Bucky crush high. “I need cardio for my exercise log anyway.”

“Okay,” Jane said, standing up.

“Now?” Darcy said, raising her eyebrows.

“It starts at seven-thirty, let’s go,” Jane said. “There’s a Lady Gaga one and we get a federal employee membership discount on our first class.” They went to spin class. Even Thor tagged along; she suspected it was Bucky Barnes-inspired peer pressure. But Darcy liked spinning. Nobody took spin class too seriously. It was difficult, too, but it didn’t hit you until later, when you stumbled off the bike, slightly buzzed from the good music, and your legs went _oh shit_.

 

She caught Thor at home that night, stretching and muttering what sounded like curses in another language. “Are you cursing Bucky Barnes in Jotun?” she asked curiously.

“No,” he said.

“Oh,” Darcy said. Really, Thor was good natured---

“I am cursing him in tree. It was an elective on Asgard,” he muttered. “James of the Barneses and his pretty eyes.” His voice was snarky.

“Thor,” Darcy said, patting his shoulder, “she loves you.”

“There was a time when my thighs were the only thighs she could see,” he said with evident jealousy.

“Yes, I know, she whined about them to me for _two years.”_

“She did, didn’t she?” he said, brightening.

“And every time you leave on some world-saving thing,” Darcy said.

“Oh,” he said. He smiled cheerfully. Darcy sat down on the couch. Very slowly.

“I wonder if I do need Epsom salts?” Darcy said out loud.

“Yes,” Jane said, coming in the room. “You do if Bucky says so. Did I tell you I can lift my big spectrometer myself now? Steve’s gonna tell me when I’m ready for more weight.” Under Bucky’s tutelage, Jane was trying the weight machines. Thor muttered in tree again. Jane used to ask him to move the big spectrometer.

 

***

Darcy’s own SHIELD class was less beloved and more, well, _bearable_. She soldiered through, helped by the fact that it was early, so she didn’t wait all day dreading it or something. Instead, she slunk in, gave Rumlow her food journal to grade, did the warm up stretches and cardio exercise (usually on a bike, she was getting fond of bikes, actually) and then fumbled her way through bodyweight strength-training and footwork demos with a partner. They weren’t getting to hit anybody yet. They were mostly practicing Muay Thai--Thai boxing--footwork. It was all about sliding side to side, backwards and forwards, while keeping your balance. For her, the big challenge was not falling on her ass a lot. Darcy fell a moderate amount. She just pretended it was line dancing and sometimes yelled “Play Freebird!” in a drunk voice when Jack did the movement demos. Jack liked to play music during class. Once, she’d made him laugh for a whole minute, until Rumlow cleared his throat and took over. That funsucker never played music. He was a drag. He hovered and then made strange faces at her. She’d be doing some sort stretch and look up and find Rumlow standing over her, looking down and frowning. She was way more comfortable around Jack. Jack always laughed when she did _Friends_ impressions and yelled pivot when he demonstrated how to pivot with her and the nice coworkers from Accounting. She’d found a few buddies who were, like her, newbies. It was easier to do if she could laugh with somebody else who wasn’t taking it too seriously. Darcy was technically supposed to be adding in cardio according to her level and interest outside class and would rather do something with Jane. That was why she’d gone to spin class.

 

Rumlow had sent her some sort of personalized report suggesting that she walk, bike, or take a beginner-level class in vinyasa yoga or pilates for her cardio. He’d added a note about something called yin yoga that might help her back. She ignored it. His other oh-so-helpful suggestion had been that she break down the rec’d thirty minutes of cardio a day into ten-minute increments, or use her fitness tracker to aim for a step total, _blah blah blah._ She ignored most of his advice, in fact. She hated Rumlow. He was a miserable, no sugar funsucker with five percent body fat and a stupid whistle. Alicia from Accounting had told her that he hadn’t had white sugar in _five years._ Clearly an insane person. Darcy would rather die. Plus, he took everything so seriously! She didn’t know how he managed to send so many of those “helpful” emails to them, teach the class, teach the probie agents, and run STRIKE. She deleted most of them without reading, although the SHIELD podiatrist and the shoe guy he recommended at one of the local stores had been actually helpful when it came to getting her a good anti-supination shoe and personalized shoe inserts. She’d gotten a ten percent discount at the shoe store for mentioning his name. The STRIKE people must buy a lot of sneakers, Darcy thought.  The most startling thing was that she always got good grades on her food journals. She’d assumed putting in the real food she ate--Fruit Loops, pizza, brownies--would get her poor marks from Commander Paleo. Also, she’d forgotten about the little sketch she’d done of him with devil horns after the first day, next to an extra-tall and happy-faced Jack. Whoops. But he never said anything to her about it. In fact, there were no negative feedback notes in the journals. Just Rumlow’s big scrawled _A_ and sometimes a _Your honesty is refreshing, Lewis_ written underneath. She knew that was sarcasm. He was like that, she’d gathered. She thought she was handling everything okay, though.

 

***

Until she rolled into class one Tuesday feeling particularly grumpy and out of sorts. PMS, Jane had adjudicated, as they drove into work, then fled when Darcy bit her head off, insisting it wasn’t PMS, how dare Jane even suggest it. She was just bloated. And tired. Her back hurt, too. She had that miserable feeling she got sometimes, when what she really needed was to be left totally alone to drink several cups of coffee in a quiet room, until she felt less homicidal and stabby. Of course, she had to go to stupid PE instead. “Hey, Lewis, good morning,” Rumlow said, as she stomped in at 9:31. He was talking to Jack and wasn’t even facing the door, so she had no idea how he’d even known it was her.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a minute late,” she snapped, wheeling on him, “DC traffic, okay? Don’t give me your sarcasm.” She shoved the food journal at him. He blinked at her. “Are you going to take that or can I tell you where to put it?” she said venomously. He took it. She stomped over to the bikes, muttering some of Thor’s tree curses interlaced with the word _fuck_. In violation of class policy, she put her earbuds in, glaring at Rumlow as she did. Let him try to take them! She wasn’t a child anymore. This was a stupid class, the policy was stupid, SHIELD was stupid, Fury was stupid, the inventor of gym equipment was stupid, the whole American healthcare system was stupid. “Stupid,” she muttered aloud, then realized Rumlow was still staring at her. Whatever. She didn’t care. She rage-pedaled. Her belly was puffy like bread dough and got slightly squished every time her legs circled on this stupid recumbent bike, she seethed internally. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

 

She was still pissed off when the official lessons started. Unfortunately, Rumlow was leading them through strengthening mat work, so she had to get on the floor mats and do push-ups. Then sit ups. It was bearable when she was just helping Alicia by holding her feet down, but Darcy could not make sit ups work for her today. She groaned in frustration when she felt stabbing pain in her back as she tried to rise and slumped back down on the floor. There was no way that was good pain. She just needed to be totally still for a minute. “Use the exercise ball,” Rumlow said, rolling one of the big ones towards her with his foot. It landed against her body. Too near her face. The exercise balls were always a little gritty. They smelled like plastic and cleaning products and got dirt on you. Something in Darcy just freaking broke.

“Did you just _kick a goddamn ball at me? At my face?”_ she yelled at Rumlow, pushing the ball back. It rolled across the floor and bounced against a stack of free weights. The class got quiet. In the mirrors behind Rumlow, she could see Jack’s alarmed expression from across the room. Rumlow merely looked at her and blinked again. God, she hated his stupid blink. It was totally idiotic, she thought. “Well?” she said.

“Lewis, I wasn’t aiming--” he said.

“No,” Darcy said. “No fucking way. I am not getting on that goddamn ball, you asshole. SHIELD might be able to force me to attend these stupid, ridiculous joke sessions you’ve got going, but I don’t have to take your shit. I am so fucking tired of your bullying. You stupid, useless _jock._ ” About twenty-five years of PE trauma made its way into the word and then Darcy kept going. “I’m so sorry that your dreams of being a professional goddamn athlete got crushed or whatever, but the rest of us don’t deserve to be tortured like this. We finished school and paid good money for college _so we wouldn’t have to do sit-ups on the floor and get little pieces of gritty dirt everywhere.”_ It was the speech she’d sort of wanted to give all her bad PE teachers, minus the college bit. That had sort of come out of her randomly.

 

The entire class had frozen.

 

She heard Jack make a noise. Rumlow took a step forward and looked down at her, silently, almost expressionless. He blinked slowly. “I went to the Naval Academy,” he said. Then he did this weird, ambiguous smile thing he was always doing during class. Usually, when she’d asked a question about the equipment.

“I am so sick of your freaking sarcasm,” she snapped.

“All right,” he said. “Hallway. Now. C’mon.” His tone had gone firm. He jerked his thumb towards the door.

“Fine,” she said. Darcy got on her hands and knees and scrambled up unsteadily. Rumlow caught her. “Take your hands off me,” she hissed, jerking her arm away from him. She marched out first, then turned to face him, arms crossed. She raised her eyebrows.

“Go,” he said. “Take a break, get a coffee, whatever.”

“What?” she said.

”I’m kicking you out of my class for today, you little pain in my ass,” he said wryly. “Come back at the end and we’ll talk.”

 

Darcy grabbed her bag out of the locker and went downstairs to the coffee shop and fumed. She was a grown-up. A fucking grown up. At what point in her life was she going to be able to stop taking PE? Somehow, she was more pissed that he was unbothered. He thought this was all funny, obviously. That she was a joke, too. “Assholes,” she muttered. A passing SHIELD agent stared. She switched to tree curses, but then caught sight of herself in the coffee shop’s mirror: she was in sweaty gym clothes, no makeup, her hair in a messy bun, and she was talking to herself. In public. Almost. She looked like a loon.

When she went back at the end of class, he was sitting on one of the freaking exercise balls, writing things on his stupid tablet. “You get enough coffee?” he asked.

“No,” she said. He chuckled and she felt a spike of irritation. “There’s no such thing as enough coffee,” she told him, still in the doorway.

“It’s your back,” he said.

“What?” Darcy said.

“Your back hurts,” he said calmly. He tapped the other exercise ball in front of him. “Come sit, I’ll show you.” Darcy set her bag down and walked over. He was in front of one of the mirrored gym walls.

“If I fall off this stupid thing--”

“You won’t,” he said. She sat down without letting him help her, dammit. “See how you’re slumping?” He gestured to her reflection in the mirror. “Here? You’ve got tight hamstrings.”

“I know that,” she said. “I’ve always had tight hamstrings, it’s one of my things.” He sighed.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said quietly. “You see how your pelvis is tilted slightly? That’s the hamstrings. You’ve got a little swayback happening, like a baby. Your hamstrings are--”

“Like a baby?” Darcy said.

“Yeah. Sitting at a desk makes it worse. Your hip flexors, here,” he said, touching her lightly, “are probably weakened, too. But you can fix it by loosening the hamstrings, strengthening the hip flexors. That will help your back pain. Then you can move into strengthening the low back.” He touched the small of her back. “It’s here, right?”

“Yeah,” she said glumly. “It’s painful.” He kneaded her lower back gently.

“This okay?” he said.

“Yeah,” she said.

“Tight,” he said. “This is why I think you’d benefit from some yin yoga. It’s all modified, relaxation work. Or see a good massage therapist until we can get your hamstrings sorted. SHIELD will cover four visits a year, if they’re an approved provider. I’ll get you a name,” he said, pressing his thumbs into her back.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. It felt really good. She still hated his stupid face, but she would take that massage therapist hint and get SHIELD to pay for some shiatsu or for someone to put hot rocks on her back or whatever. Why hadn’t Bucky mentioned it Jane? That seemed like a good, solid Buckyism. Maybe Bucky didn’t like to be touched? Rumlow kept rubbing her low back, kneading with his fingers.

“You got anybody at home who could do this for you?” he asked.

“Jane might,” Darcy said. Jane and she did stretches together. Jane had actually ordered those Pilates yoga DVDs off an infomercial yesterday.

“Foster?” In the mirror, his expression was quizzical.

“We’re roommates, neither of us likes living alone and Thor is gone pretty frequently,” she explained. He nodded.

“If she can’t, you can use heat. Heating pad, warm bath, sauna, anything warm to help loosen these muscles,” Brock said. “You need a foam roller, too.”

“Like curlers?” she said, befuddled.

“No,” he said, chuckling. He removed his hands and she repressed the urge to pout. “You had enough coffee to get down on the gritty floor with the jocks?”

“Ugh,” Darcy said. “No.”

“Okay,” he said mildly. His expression was so patient, she felt actually guilty.

“Fine, fine. I’ll do it. Sorry I yelled at you,” she said.

“Don’t apologize, you’re not wrong. I wanted to be an Olympic wrestler and then a boxer like Rocky as a kid. Had to settle for STRIKE,” Brock said. Darcy started to laugh. “What?”

“I just expressed a bunch of unresolved childhood PE anger at you,” she said, sliding to the floor.

“Yeah?” he said. He chuckled. “Why do you think I got into wrestling and boxing, Lewis? I was a little kid. I wanted to knock down some big asshole really bad.”

“Really?” she said.

“Get on your back, I want to stretch those hamstrings, been driving me crazy all week,” he said. She listened as he climbed over her and put her knee over his freaking shoulder and talked. “This fucker named Donnie McCleary used to knock my books out of my hands, but he was older and bigger than me, so I had to learn how to gain an advantage. That’s why this is a martial arts self-defense class,” he told her.

“Hmmm?” Darcy said, torn between not understanding and the fear that her actual leg would pop off like a broken Barbie, the way he had it angled. It didn’t actually hurt, but it looked crazy.

“You’re a small person,” he said. “The stuff we’re covering in the syllabus is designed for someone like you to gain leverage over a bigger opponent. It's the easiest things I can teach you, if somebody who's six-foot-three ever tries to snatch you and Foster."

"Oh. I usually just tase them," she said.

"You've been attacked already?" he said seriously.

"Yeah, our security guy in Norway was HYDRA. Grant Ward? I tased him and we duct-taped him to an office chair until the Norwegian cops came," she said.

"I remember Ward. Switch legs? He was an asshole."

“Oh, yeah, total schmuck. It was so difficult to translate HYDRA in Norwegian, too. We got Thor back so he could help using AllSpeak,” she said, letting him manipulate her other leg. The next class was filing into the other side of the room and she caught one of the other agents raising his eyebrows at them. Darcy was acutely conscious of how she must look. With Rumlow practically on top of her and her leg angled like that over his shoulder, there were three distinct belly rolls visible through her t-shirt. She must look so pudgy from above. She still felt all bloaty. “How’s Thai boxing work against Dark Elves?” she cracked. He laughed.

“That’s right, you were running around in that, weren’t you?” he said. She nodded, as he leaned more weight against her leg. “What were you doing? I saw the CC-TV footage later.”

“Putting out Jane’s elf-vaporizing doohickeys with my intern,” Darcy said. “We had to put them in particular places to, like, activate the vaporizing part. I don’t know what they do, just that they work and everyone is alive and--” She frowned.

“What?” he said. “This hurt?” He released her leg a fraction.

“No, nuh-uh,” Darcy said. It had made her think of Ian for a second. One of their big arguments had been that she followed Jane’s instructions without knowing exactly what she was doing. Ian had thought she should learn the science, too, come to her own judgments and not be unduly influenced by Jane. During a particularly bad fight, Ian had once accused her of being totally submissive to Jane, which was ridiculous. “I just trust Jane, that’s all,” she told Rumlow. He nodded, as if that was the most normal thing in the world and went back to stretching her.

"You feel like trying the foam roller?" he asked. He had her rolling her hip flexors and was telling her funny stories when Jack appeared in the gym.

“Brock, Fury wants to see you,” Jack said. He frowned.

“Sure, just a sec,” Brock said. “I need to help Darcy with this roller.”

“Brock,” Jack said.

“It’s okay, you can go,” Darcy said. “I can handle it by myself.” He left and a second later, Darcy got a text from Jane asking where she was. Steve had let them out _early._ “Ugh,” Darcy said, “no fairs, Jane.” She put up the roller and was going around a corner when Darcy heard two voices. Jack and Brock. Brock sounded upset.

“So, you lied just now about Fury?” he murmured, lethally quiet.

“Darcy is your student, mate,” Jack said. “It wouldn’t be right—”

“It’s not like I’m asking people out during class. Besides, don’t you think she’s too skinny for me, anyway?” Brock said, sounding amused.

 

Darcy didn’t stay to hear what else was said. He’d just made a sarcastic crack about her weight, obviously. Any friendly feelings she’d had towards him evaporated.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MMA footwork looks like this; I imagine Darcy yelling "Pivot!" like Ross on Friends when relevant: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Cwb-lzzv1A
> 
> Everyone's favorite Frank Grillo hamstring stretch gif set from Kingdom: http://dellesayah.tumblr.com/post/132150261307


	3. How To Unfuck Your Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Man, the feedback on this story has been intense. I appreciate it all so much!

“What an asshole,” Jane said, when Darcy told her about the overheard conversation between Jack and Brock. “Bucky and Steve would never talk about anyone like that!” They were working in the lab.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said dryly. “But I’m telling you that so you’ll know why I hate him even if he told me about the massage therapy thing.” She’d already exchanged messages with a rep for their insurance provider and been emailed a list of acceptable massage therapists. “We’ve got a thirty dollar copay, but I’m going to schedule myself an appointment. You want one?” she asked Jane.

“Yeah,” Jane said. “Can we go at the same time?”

“I’ll see,” Darcy said. “I’m surprised Bucky didn’t mention it.”

“Oh, my God, he told me the cutest story about Itty Bitty Steve not being able to reach the top cabinets when they were teenagers and then he Baby’d us at the end of class,” Jane said.

“Baby’d you?” Darcy said puzzled.

“Held us up with his metal arm like Patrick Swayze in _Dirty Dancing,_ Darce. He’s so strong! He can even lift Jim from Public Relations,” Jane said. “Like it’s nothing!”

“Oh,” Darcy said, trying to suppress a wild stab of jealousy. She wanted to be Baby’d by the ex-Winter Soldier.

“It was so much fun, I wish you could be there,” Jane said.

“Me, too.” Darcy sighed. Something needed to change, she thought.

 

At lunch that day, she and Jane sat with Bucky and Steve and Cameron Klein, the nice technical analyst, in the SHIELD cafeteria. Steve and Jane’s presence seemed to open Bucky up and make him tell all kinds of fun stories about Steve. “Well, you know, it was our first day of art school, and Punk walks into the class and turns as red as a beet--” Bucky said, laughing, “because the life drawing model was a guy from Brooklyn he’d always thought was cute!”

“I did not think Patrick O’Connor was cute,” Steve grumbled.

“You still remember his name!” Bucky said.

“I remember everybody’s name,” Steve said.

“Do you still remember everybody naked?” Bucky teased. Steve turned a little pink around the ears.

“Awww, you made Captain America blush!” Darcy said. Jane clapped and beamed.

“He’s been making me blush since about 1923,” Steve said affectionately, raking a hand through Bucky’s long hair. They looked at each other sweetly. “You’re much cuter than he was, Buck,” Steve said, winking at Jane.

“I know,” Bucky said, stuffing an entire dinner roll in his mouth and smirking.

“They’re cute,” Darcy whispered to Cam, once she’d stopped laughing. He smiled. “What kind of work do you do?” she asked him. He was quiet like Bucky, but he seemed really nice. He explained his job to her, at first haltingly, but then in more detail as he warmed up.

“I’m getting cake,” Cam said to Darcy a few minutes later. “Would you like cake?”

“Yes, please,” she said. He brought her back a slice of chocolate cake and started telling her about his latest non-classified project. The poor technical analysts did so much work, but got way less of the glory, Darcy had picked up. They had been the ones who’d picked up on the energy readings from the Dark Elves and finally alerted SHIELD when she couldn’t get through in London.

“I’m really sorry about that,” Cameron told her. “You should have had a SHIELD team.”

“Thanks,” she said. “This is great cake, by the way.” Darcy was eating her cake when she realized that Jack and Brock had sat down nearby.  Brock was frowning at her and Cam’s end of the table. She was tempted to scowl back. He had such nerve! Giving her cake and Diet Sprite the evil eye because all he ate was broccoli and skinless, boneless chicken breast?  Phfft, she thought. He could bite her left butt cheek.

 

The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. She fumed to Jane about it in the lab. “He was totally scowling at me because of the cake!” she said.

“He’s an asshole. Thank God the class is only twelve weeks.”

“Only twelve? I’m gonna die Jane! Can’t we swap like twins in a movie and alternate weeks in the good class? I’ll be you and you can be me,” Darcy wheedled. “People are always mixing us up. It’ll be like _Parent Trap._ We can call it Bucky Trap?”

“Bucky has great traps,” Jane said, sighing.

“What are traps?” Darcy asked.

“Shoulder muscles,” Jane said.

“Oh,” Darcy said. Her shoulder muscles actually hurt right now. She needed a new underwire bra, but she hadn’t found a specialty bra shop in DC yet. She wore a size 34 H in her usual brand, but the last one she’d ordered online had been slightly off and she’d lost her shipping and handling when she returned it. She needed a local place where she could try them on first. “I’ll be right back,” Darcy said, getting an idea of who she could ask. She grabbed some of their spare lab party gear--confetti, kazoos, M&Ms--out of a drawer and put it in a bag.

“Where are you going?” Jane asked.

“HR,” Darcy said.

“Are you going to complain about Rumlow?” Jane said.

“Not today, but maybe,” Darcy said.

 

“I come bearing gifts,” Darcy said, plunking her mini party kit on the desk of HR’s receptionist, Michonne. “I need your assistance.”

“What’s happening?” Michonne said. She and Michonne had bonded when Darcy had complained in the elevator that the DC humidity plus her anti-chafing powder meant she was “making boob gravy in her bra” when it had been unusually hot one day. Michonne had laughed and agreed. She had a great sense of humor and big boobs, too.

“My underwire’s killing me. Literally stabbing me. I need a new bra. Do you know any good specialty shops?” Darcy asked.

“Oh, yeah, you need Miss Renee at Capitol Lingerie, she’s the best. I think I’ve got a recommend a friend coupon,” she said, digging around in her desk. She found a card and wrote her name on one side. “She gives me a discount when I recommend people, too,” Michonne said. “Does your boss need one?”

“Jane? Nope,” Darcy said. Michonne hadn’t met Jane. “Jane’s an A cup, she can wear any old bra,” she explained. “Sometimes, she just wears a tank top or no bra at all. Her boobs are like cute tiny puppies.”

“Oh, giiiiirl, don’t make me hate her before we’ve even met, telling me she’s got puppy boobs, a PhD, and Thor? That ain’t fair,” Michonne said, laughing.

“She’s just lucky like that. She even got into the Steve and Bucky PE class,” Darcy said. “I probably need a sports bra for SHIELD PE, too.”

“Miss Renee will fix you up. She’s the first person who told me I was a 38L. I was like, ‘is the L for long, honey?’ and she tells everybody that story,” Michonne said. “I’m famous in the DC bra world now. What PE class are you in?”

“9:30am”--Michonne groaned sympathetically--”with Rollins and Rumlow,” Darcy said. Michonne squealed and waved her arms.

“Oh, I’m jelly. So jelly! I heard you got Rumlow. You are so lucky. I bet he’s all over you. He is such a flirt. Did he _really_ grab your ass on the first day? Everybody was talking about it and Jack supposedly fussed at all the gossipers,” Michonne said, looking eager.

“It was during the miserable body fat thing, I almost fell getting into the tank,” Darcy said glumly. “He had to catch me. There was no grabbing.”

“Sure,” Michonne said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve heard what he’s like. Me and Jenna from Legal--have you met her yet? She’s the redheaded one, about a size sixteen? I sent her to Miss Renee, too. We have a bet going about which one of us he’ll ask out first. He hasn’t asked me yet, but it’s gonna happen. This body is ready. I’d kill to be in that class,” she said. Michonne mimed tossing her curls over her shoulder and put on a breathy voice. “Oh, Brock, I don’t think I can lift that big heavy weight, baby. Can you help me?” she said, batting her eyelashes. Darcy laughed, despite the fact that Rumlow wasn’t her favorite person right now.

“That makes me wish you were in the class,” she told Michonne sincerely. It would be funny to watch her flirt with Commander Paleo, she had so much personality. Would he blush like Steve when confronted by Michonne’s charm offensive? “Did you want to switch with me? Fury probably won’t let us, though. He told Jane the computer was final when we wanted to be together.” Darcy sighed.

“God, yes. I’mma run your ass over in the parking lot,” Michonne said, grinning. “I’ve just got this boring guy who plays Galaga. I want that good Italian. We’d make pretty babies with curly hair,” Michonne said jokingly. "Can I come to your class?"

“Stop by on Thursday, then. I’ll pretend to have something for you,” Darcy said, “I want to see you work your magic.”  It would be hella fun to just derail the whole damn thing. A labor disruption, she thought. Cause chaos.

 

***

Darcy confessed her scheme to Jane on the way to their massage appointments on Wednesday night. Michonne had emailed her to confirm her PE class time and asked her to bring “her naughtiest book” as a pretext so she could flirt with Rumlow about it. Darcy had stuck a contemporary romance novel with handcuffs on the cover in the car already. “Do you think that’s unfair to Michonne?” Darcy said. “Like I’m setting her up to be rejected?”

"How?" Jane said.

"Well, he made that crack about my weight behind my back and Michonne's a little bigger than me, so now I'm worried it's a bad idea," Darcy explained. "What if he's an asshole to her?"

“But from what you’re telling me, she thinks he’s a flirt?” Jane said, frowning. "She's met him, right?"

“Yeah,” Darcy said, as they walked into the massage studio. "She's definitely met him."

“And she wants to flirt with him?”

“Yes,” Darcy said.

“Let me think about it,” Jane said. She had her Science! face on.

“You need to think about it?” Darcy said.

“I feel like there’s something I’m missing,” Jane said. “It’s right there, whatever it is, just like when we had those readings in Hawaii and I had a breakthrough at 3am.”

“Oh, yeah,” Darcy said. “Please don’t wake me up this time. Rumlow isn’t cosmos-altering science or anything.” Jane nodded.

 

Her massage appointment was blissful. The masseuse worked out all the knots around her shoulder blades, kneaded her lower back, and generally made her feel like cooked spaghetti. She stumbled out of the appointment all relaxed and then made Jane take her for French fries and beer. She got her phone.

 **World's Okayest Assistant:** Is Rumlow nice to you? Because he's kinda rude in class and now I'm worried he'll be mean....

 **Goddess of HR:** Oh, he is always nice to me, honey. We are thisclose to running off together with some embezzled SHIELD money.

Darcy read Michonne's text aloud to Jane and laughed. She texted Michonne back and told her to make extra trouble, so they’d have to do less damn exercise, giggling when Michonne sent her a thumbs up selfie in a hot dress with the caption _got my outfit ready._  After her second or third beer, she wrote a note in her food journal, too: _Massage therapy is wonderful, even if you are a schmuck, Commander Paleo._

***

 

They ran late the next morning. The massages and beer made them sleep through their alarms, she thought. When Darcy arrived at 9:37am, Michonne was already there, practically draped across Rumlow in the far corner of the gym. “Well, when are you going to _ask_ me, honey?” Darcy could hear Michonne saying flirtatiously, as Darcy walked across the floor to get on her bike next to Alicia. She’d left her journal at the usual place, rude note forgotten.

“What did I miss?” Darcy said to Alicia in a quiet voice. Alicia giggled.

“She is all over him, she pinched his ass when she walked in!” Alicia said.

“Damn, I hate I missed that,” Darcy said. Maybe Cameron could get her the footage. She grinned slyly. It would be epic. Darcy could hear Rumlow and see him in the gym’s mirrors. Jack was nowhere to be seen.

“Michonne, baby,” he said, “I’d love to get coffee sometime, but I’m supposed to be teaching a class right now and I’ve kinda met somebody--” To Darcy’s surprise, his reflection was practically smirking down at the voluptuous, short Michonne and even his voice sounded different. He was purring at her.

“Holy shit,” Darcy muttered. “He _is_ a flirt.”

“Uh-huh,” Alicia said dryly. “Seeing all kinds of new things today.” Darcy giggled, watching their reflections. She felt relieved he wasn’t being a jerk, at least. It absolved her of her guilt. Also, Michonne could teach a master class in flirting. She kept leaning into him, admiring his tattoos, and talking in a smooth, inviting way. And he was mirroring her. _I should learn how to do that,_ Darcy thought. Mostly, she just looked at guys like Ian and went, _hey, stupid, you’re cute._  That had worked in her early twenties. She strained to hear Rumlow’s words.

“--Jack’ll give me a big lecture about flirting in the gym, too,” he said. He paused and rubbed his face. “So, you can’t be doing this to me, it's not fair,” he said, grinning. He scrunched his nose at her.

“Oh, I can’t?” Michonne said, putting her hands on her hips.

“Nope.” He shook his head. "Bringing all that ammunition into a gym at 9am ain't fair play," he said, eyeing her dress. Even Darcy could see him checking her out.

“Well, where is she?” Michonne challenged. “Who is this mystery woman?”

“Uhhhh,” he said, pushing out air. He looked chagrined.

“When the Aussie’s away, the Italian will play,” Darcy said to Alicia. She was enjoying the show.

“He don’t flirt with us like that. Teaches this class like like it’s Mr. Boring’s Bootcamp,” Alicia complained. Somehow, Alicia’s offended tone sent Darcy into a full-blown case of the church giggles. She was shrieking a little on her recumbent bike when Rumlow looked up.

“Hey, girl!” Michonne called, following his gaze and seeing Darcy.

“Hi, Michonne!” she called across the gym, laughing.

“Where’s my damn book?” Michonne said, taking her arms away from Brock’s chest. Even through her giggles, Darcy saw his expression go all strained when Michonne moved.

“Oooooh, you interrupted them,” Alicia whispered. Darcy couldn’t stop laughing, but she tried.

“It’s in my bag,” Darcy called.

“I see you, being all late for class, holding up this fine man’s day,” Michonne said. Rumlow looked down, then back at Darcy, frowning. Michonne strutted across the room, swinging her hips in an exaggerated fashion, while Brock trailed behind her. He was frowning and rubbing his neck. When he looked up at Darcy, his expression was brooding.

“Oh, he’s pissed now,” Alicia whispered. “You called him an asshole the other day and you disrupted his getting some today. You’re gonna flunk this class.”

“I’m in trouble,” Darcy said, delighted.

 

The book she’d brought to loan Michonne was called _Dark Pleasure,_ so Michonne stood in front of Darcy’s bike and mused out loud about pleasure and how many minutes she needed with somebody dark for awhile. She even read the book’s description out loud. “Oooh, the hero’s name is Asher? I like that,” Michonne said. “ _Catherine learns of Asher’s dark, mysterious past….._ Is this BDSM, girl?”

“Yeah, but it’s not super heavy,” Darcy said. “Just a little light bondage.”

“Oooh, she’s naughty!” Michonne turned to Rumlow, who was down the line of bikes talking to one of the other students. “Professor Brock, one of your students is a very bad girl!” Rumlow was swigging his bottled water, but he looked over to where Michonne was pointing at Darcy. “She’s reading bondage books!” Michonne repeated. He choked a little on his water.

“What?” he said, walking over.

“Darcy’s book is very naughty. Listen to this, baby,” she said. Then she read in a dramatic, suggestive fashion.

 

_“I shivered as he laced the silk tie around my wrists, pinning my arms behind me. I was helpless to resist Asher. His blue eyes raked my bare skin. ‘Are you ready to have an adventure, Catherine?’ he whispered, his breath ghosting over my shoulder. I trembled with anticipation--”_

 

“I’m going to love this book,” Michonne said. “She’s corrupted me already. I love adventure. Don’t you love adventure?” She looked at him.

“Huh?” Brock said. He’d gone quiet. Several of the other students were grinning and laughing.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said simultaneously. She was dying of glee. This was too funny. “Read more, Michonne. You should do audiobooks,” Darcy said. Michonne found the other love scene, a bizarre one involving oysters and champagne and sex on a marble table, since this was a billionaire-themed romance.

“Oooh, marble,” Michonne said, as she read it aloud. She was a great reader.

“I felt like that would be uncomfortable,” Darcy said, scrunching her nose.

“And cold,” Alicia, said, nodding. “Marble tables are cold.”

"Cold," Rumlow repeated. He appeared to be sulking, now that Michonne’s attention wasn’t totally directed at him and she was entertained by the book. He kept frowning and moving from side to side and crossing his arms.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Michonne said, looking over at him. He was fidgety, Darcy thought. Almost antsy.

“Do you have to pee or something?” Darcy asked. It was weird. He looked exactly like her baby cousins when they needed to pee.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, a strange expression washing over his face. “I’ll be right back. Everyone just stay on your bikes or ellipticals, okay?”

Michonne shook her head as she watched him flee the gym. They waited a few minutes, but he didn’t return. “Why’d he run away? I thought I was doing good and then, _bam_ ,” she said.

“Weird,” Alicia said.

“Maybe he did need to pee,” Darcy said.

“You can’t just ask a man that,” Michonne scolded. “Did nobody teach you how to flirt?”

“Nope.” Darcy shrugged.

“Look, you can’t just coast by on your boobs forever,” Michonne said.

“Yup,” Alicia seconded. “It’s not like you’re married.”

“Hey,” Darcy said. “When did this become about my weird?”

 

Just then, Jack walked into the gym. “Where’s Brock?” he said, looking around.

“He left me, Jack! All alone with my broken heart!” Michonne said. “Can’t you help a woman in need, you wonderful man?” She put her hands over her chest in prayer pose and batted her lashes like a cartoon character.

“He left you?” Jack repeated, grinning.

“Who’s this woman he’s met? He told me he’d met somebody,” Michonne said. “Tell us the gossip, Jack. You know I need to know who’s off the market, so I don’t bother with my good nail polish on days I’ll see ‘em. Is it Jenna?”

“Urrrm,” Jack said. He looked at Michonne. He looked at Darcy. He looked at Alicia. “I don’t think it’s Jenna. I’ll go check on him. He better not be falling off the wagon, right into old habits. Just---”

“Stay on our bikes?” one of the agents said. Jack nodded.

“All right,” another one said, once Jack had left. “Three minute rule. They aren’t back in three minutes, we all leave. I got shit to do.”

 

***

 

They weren’t back. Everyone bailed. Darcy snuck Michonne down to review the gym surveillance tapes with Cameron. “He’s cute,” Michonne mouthed. “Dibs?” Darcy shook her head. She got to enjoy the sight of a blushing Cameron asking a flirty Michonne out to dinner. It was adorbs. Also hilarious: Michonne pinching Rumlow’s ass on camera while his back was turned. He’d whirled around, then beamed at her. Actually beamed. Darcy hadn’t ever seen his face do that. What had she said, Darcy wondered? Was she just that charming? It was practically assault, but he looked the way Thor did when she gave him a cookie.

“You’re very good at flirting,” she told Michonne. “I might need to learn.”

“There is no might in that sentence girl. You asked Agent Hot & Ready if _he needed to pee._ That is not the context in which you want a single man to think about his penis in your presence,” Michonne said. “That’s lesson one. You’re single, right?”

“Yup,” Darcy said.

“Lesson two: the more people you approach, the more likely you are to meet somebody good. You gotta flirt all the time,” Michonne said. “I flirt with everybody I think is attractive.”

“Really?” Darcy said.

“Yes. How many dating profiles do you have?” Michonne asked.

“Um, zero?” Darcy said.

“None? None?” Michonne said. “How old are you?”

“I’ll be thirty in five months,” she said.

“Jesus, take the wheel,” Michonne said, putting a hand over her heart and staring at Darcy. “Do you know how many decent straight men do their cut off at thirty on online profiles?  We got five months to get you a man before all your matches become men old enough to be your grandpa. This is an emergency!”

“Really?” Darcy said again. She’d never done online dating. It seemed so...impersonal. Too much like grocery shopping and she did enough of that. She wanted to meet someone naturally, have chemistry, not a checklist.

“You should have started five years ago,” Michonne said, shaking her head. “You might need a new online birthday. We have to strategize. Take me to Dr. Foster. She must have more game than you, she snagged Thor.”

“Okay,” Darcy said, “and, um, Jane is really, really beautiful, in a graceful, elegant way.” Michonne nodded.

“Can I meet Thor?” Michonne said.

“Yes, but Jane has been known to slap,” Darcy said.

“Hands off her man?”

“At least, uh, north of the equator,” Darcy said.

“Damn, I wanted to pinch him, too,” Michonne said.

 

Multiple online dating profiles later and two bottles of wine later, Darcy was getting pinged with matches while Thor carried Michonne around their apartment that night. She’d pinched Thor twice. Jane was laughing, thankfully. She liked Michonne. Michonne charmed the hell of out people. “How does she do that?” Darcy mused, sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table. “I wish I did that.” She rewound the surveillance tape and watched Rumlow grin again on her laptop. Jane frowned.

“I dunno, I just slap people, Darce,” she said, setting her wine down. “Besides, don’t you dislike him now?”

“It’s not him liking me so much, it’s just how confident she is,” Darcy whispered. She looked at Thor and Michonne. Michonne was singing that “Hero” song from all the telethons while Thor rocked her like a baby.

“You’re charming,” Jane insisted. “This PE class is fucking with your head. I ought to slap somebody,” Jane grumbled.

“What?” Michonne said.

“PE is fucking with my head,” Darcy said. “I feel about twelve.” That was it. “It makes me feel all awkward and not capable and like I’m asking permission to go to the damn bathroom from adults again,” she said.

“You need to unfuck your head,” Michonne said from across the room.

“Aye!” Thor yelled. Michonne grinned at Thor and then looked at Jane.

“Your man’s shoulders look like cantaloupes!” she yelled, pointing.

“Thank you,” Thor said seriously.

“They do! I never realized that before,” Jane said.

 

Darcy decided to unfuck her head. It helped that they were starting kicking lessons next.

 

***

“Hey, Lewis,” Rumlow said when she walked into class on Tuesday.

“Good morning, dude,” she said politely, not stopping. She tossed him the food journal and walked over to her bike. Dismissed, she thought. He could follow her if he had something to say or wanted Michonne’s number. She was an adult, she didn’t need to wait for his go-ahead. When she got on the bike, he was frowning from across the room. She put in her earbuds and listened to some old-school Destiny’s Child and Beyonce. “Sorry” felt really appropriate to her mood. She wasn’t going to yell or have a meltdown again, though. She was just going to unfuck things up?

 

They did a bunch of warm-up stretches first. Darcy behaved for those. She started when Jack demonstrated the basic kicks for them. They were doing body kick mobility drills with a partner. Darcy was supposed to bring her calf up to Alicia’s rib level, Alicia would grab her leg, and Darcy would rotate her hip forward to shift her knee against Alicia’s body, then move back to the beginning alignment with her knee facing up. According to Jack, as they got stronger, they could break those holds. Muay Thai kicks also gave them useful physical distance from an opponent. It sounded very practical, actually. Like something Natasha would know. But Darcy had tipped Alicia off. Every time she went to rotate her hip, Alicia let go, she fake-fell, and Darcy burst out laughing. Alicia laughed, too. They were pretty much laughing in the corner like a pair of goofy, wisecracking burnouts. Jane had taught her how to fall easily--she’d asked Bucky to demo--so Darcy was uninjured. And a distraction. It was silly, but it beat trying to actually kick Alicia. “Whoops,” she said, on her fifth fake fall, when she realized that Brock had walked over and was frowning down at her. “I’m having difficulty.”

“She loses her balance,” Alicia supplied, poker-faced like a boss. He looked at her.

“I’ll work with you,” he said. “Jack, can you run drills with Alicia?” Alicia and Darcy exchanged a look. _Well shit,_ Darcy thought. _That backfired. I should have anticipated this flaw in my plan._  “Okay,” Brock told her, “kick me.” Darcy tapped him lightly with her leg--it was a struggle to get her leg that high--and he seized the back of her calf. He wasn’t going to let go. “Now rotate slowly,” he said. She tried to seriously rotate but then she actually wobbled and he grabbed her with his other arm so she wouldn’t fall.

“Ow,” Darcy complained. She felt a weird urge to sneeze, all of a sudden. Her nose twitched.

“Sorry,” he said. “I see the issue. You don’t have the flexibility to kick me this high without losing your balance. Let’s try this lower.”

“Lower?” she said.

“Aim for the outside of my leg,” he said. “Anywhere from knee to hip.” She kicked him, he seized her leg. “How does it feel when you rotate here?” he said.

“Slightly more stable,” she admitted begrudgingly. She wasn’t wobbling, at least.

“You can do this at this level and it will be almost as useful until we can improve your flexibility,” Rumlow said. He had her repeat the movement. Twenty times. She kept catching whiffs of something stale, too. Almost like cigarettes, except SHIELD was smoke-free. On the twenty-first time, an irritated Darcy determined she would actually use some damn force. Except she didn’t realize he’d turn in response to Jack calling his name.

It happened almost in slow-mo. She raised her leg. Jack called out “Brock!” He half-turned. She kicked him in the groin. It was an accident. Legitimately.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” she said, when he flinched and looked at her. He’d gritted his teeth.

“It’s okay,” he said, sighing. He let her go back to practicing with Alicia. They grinned at each other.

  
***

 

When she told Michonne that she’d kicked him in the balls, Michonne insisted she take her shoe off. They were having lunch in the lab and gossiping. “I need to touch that foot,” she swore. Darcy practically rolled on the floor.

“What about your date with Cameron?” she said, after she’d stopped screeching.

“So? I’m dating him, I’m not dead. It’s not cheating if I touch your pinky toe ‘cause I know where it’s been.”

“You could practice kicking Bucky,” Jane said. “He’d help you.”

“Jane, I’m not kicking Bucky in the balls so you can touch my foot,” Darcy said.

“Oh, c’mon, you know you want to,” Michonne said.

“I wouldn’t mind falling into his lap, but I don’t want to hurt him,” Darcy admitted. They decided to go find Bucky.

 

He and Steve were having lunch outside. It was sunny. After they’d crashed the supersoldier party, Darcy finally got Bucky to _Dirty Dancing_ lift her. Michonne, too. They took turns. Nobody could bogart the Barnes. “This is amazing!” Darcy yelled. “Woo-hooo!” They were goofing around outside when Jack and Brock came looking for Cap. Steve waved at her--aloft in Bucky’s stable, reassuring metal grip--as he walked back into the office. She waved back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Body Kick Mobility Drills are #5 on this list: https://www.mmarevolution.com/muay-thai-kicking-drills/. You can watch a video.


	4. Practice Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Y'all are so awesome. Whenever I check my inbox, it feels like a party.

Michonne insisted that Darcy needed to practice date. “What is a practice date?” Darcy asked.

“A date with somebody you don’t care about, so you can get all your nerves over with and figure out how to talk to somebody for when you actually do care,” Michonne said.

“That sounds like a job interview,” Jane said thoughtfully. “Remember how you helped me practice my job interview skills when I was still applying for academic jobs?”

“Yes,” Darcy said. “I had to pretend to be an entire committee of boring academics doing a phone interview with Jane. I used different voices and asked trick questions and was sometimes rude and sexist,” she told Michonne.

“She was very good. Her impression of that jackass from MIT was flawless,” Jane said.

“If you can fake being five different scientists, you can fake being one single woman. I’ll set something up,” Michonne said. “You’ve got Valentine’s Day coming up, too.”

“Ugh,” Darcy said. “Besides, going out on Valentine’s Day is a nightmare. I used to just stay in with Ian in my sweats and we bought discount candy on the fifteenth.”

“This is why you have no romance in your life. Your standards are too relaxed,” Michonne said, shaking her head.

 

Something ended up being a date with one of the guys from STRIKE Charlie. “Michonne, Jake Whelan is a _tree._ A literal tree. He doesn’t talk!” Darcy said, when she found out.

“So? He’s fine, he’s just a little shy. Have you seen his abs?” Michonne said. “Chest like a barrel. It’s old school. He looks like Tarzan. I thought you’d like that old movie look. You love old movies.”

“Really? He’s muscular?” Darcy said. Whelan was so tall, he tended to shuffle and walk with a slump, when he wasn’t looking at you with an oddly mournful face, like a sad basset hound. Darcy had always had the impression that he was gangly underneath his tactical gear. Also, that he was sad like that depression commercial with the little bouncy dot. Darcy didn’t think she’d ever heard him talk. Once, she’d spoken to him before a staff meeting and he’d just nodded and then done this weird swallowing thing. He had pretty dark eyes and longish black wavy hair, but his manner wasn’t friendly. She’s been hoping to practice date somebody approachable, like Sam Wilson.

“How have you seen his abs?” Jane asked curiously.

“What, you think Cameron isn’t helping me scope out the gym feeds for somebody good to take you out?” Michonne said. “It’s our couples’ project. Shared activities.”

“Thor and I should get a couples’ project,” Jane mused. “What could we do?”

“Something outside, you’re getting pale from working in the lab,” Darcy told her. “Kites?” Thor would like those.

“Good idea,” Jane said.

 

***

Jake Whalen could actually talk, Darcy discovered. He just didn’t seem to like to talk. Getting him to talk about himself was like pulling teeth. He would start a sentence and it would actually die in the middle when he swallowed:

“I’m from, uh, a little town in Kansas nobody’s heard of,” he said, then swallowed and lapsed into silence.

“Some,” he said, swallowing, when she asked if he liked to travel. She asked about hobbies. He shrugged and swallowed again. “Rock, uh, climbing,” he said.

“Is that fun?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. She gave up getting him to talk. Instead, Darcy sat across from him as they ate and told funny stories about getting Thor accustomed to the planet. There was the mug dropping story, of course. But also, the no pants story, the one where he thought someone was an actual Asgardian on Halloween, and Heimdall giving him serious hints about what to buy Jane for birthdays and Thor not getting it. By the last one, Whalen was actually laughing and grinning. He did an adorable nose-scrunch when he laughed, his face crinkling into a series of deep laugh lines. He didn’t look like the depression dot anymore. He looked more like a friendly thirty-two year old carpenter or something. He had a kind of hipster Jesus vibe in his civilian clothes. _Thank God,_ Darcy thought. She didn’t suck at practice dating. She’d made Whalen laugh!

“What else do you like to do?” she asked.

“I play pool,” he said. “Small height advantage.” He grinned.

“I never learned. Would you teach me?” she said. Michonne had drilled into her that she needed to volunteer to do stuff.

“Yeah,” he said, “I can, if you want?”

“Tonight?” she said, smiling brightly. This was her game face.

 

He took her to a bar frequented by the STRIKE guys. Learning to play pool was actually pretty physical. Darcy realized he was very strong when he had his arms around her, guiding her with the pool cue. “There you go,” he said quietly, when she made her first shot.

“Hahaha, I’ve mastered pool,” Darcy bragged. “I’m so good at this game.” So what if she missed her next three? They played one game, then a second. Whalen turned out to be from North Kansas.

“Do you think you’d be interested in doing some climbing with me?” he asked.

“Big rocks?” Darcy said, pulling a face.

“Actually, I was thinking the rock wall at the gym?” he said, grinning.

“I could do that,” Darcy said.

“You want to meet me after work tomorrow?” he asked. It would be a Wednesday, so she didn’t have PE that morning.

“Yeah,” Darcy said.

 

“Wait for me, I have little legs!” Darcy said, when Whalen outpaced on her the SHIELD rock wall and was suddenly high above her.

“Sorry,” he said, peering down. He descended. “You need a hand?”

“I can do it,” Darcy said. “I think. This harness is squishing the heck outta my business, though.” She was wearing plenty of safety equipment. Whalen laughed loudly. He actually roared with laughter, attracting the attention of people walking through the gym.

“Darce, that you?” a familiar voice called from below. Jack was standing below her.

“Hey, Jack. You might want to back away!” Darcy yelled down. Jack took a step back. Rumlow came walking up behind him, out of his tactical gear and in jeans and a t-shirt. He looked up at Darcy behind his mirrored aviators. “Hey, Commander Paleo!” Darcy called jokingly. He grimaced. He and Jack has some sort of stilted conversation, Rumlow left and Jack got on one of the treadmills in the adjoining room.

“I want to make it to the top,” Darcy told Whalen, looking back up.

“All the way up?” he said, frowning. It was a high rock wall. The foot and hand holds got farther apart as you ascended.

“Uh-huh,” she said, grinning. “I just need to not look down. Also, if I start to slide, you’ve got those long arms, right?”

“I do,” he said, chuckling. “Let’s do it.”

 

They made it all the way to the top. Darcy asked Whalen take a photo of her with the floor visible below. He was sweetly enthusiastic about it. He could look down, even if she couldn’t yet. She was a little bit afraid of heights. He showed her how to repel down, which was her favorite part. “I could get used to this mode of transportation,” she said.

“Do you say _whee_ with other modes of transportation?” he asked dryly, as he helped her out of the harness.

“Whenever possible,” Darcy said. “It works very well with Mew-Mew.”

“Mew-Mew?”

“Thor’s hammer,” she said.

“What’s that like?” He’d raised his eyebrows quizzically.

“A lot like a convertible, only at the speed of light,” she said.

“Messes up your hair?” he said, patting his head reflexively. The man had great hair. So shiny.

“Totally.”

 

***

When Darcy came into PE the next morning, Alicia grinned at her. “I heard you’ve been seen with Weird Whalen?” she teased, as Darcy got on her bike.

“Shut up, Jake is awesome,” Darcy said.

“Really?” Alicia said. “His name is Jake? Does he actually talk?”

“He has a _great_ mouth,” Darcy said. She’d sort of channeled the elation of rock climbing into makeout energy in SHIELD’s parking lot.

“Uh-huh,” Alicia said. “How you reach it, Shorty?”

“He taught me how to climb,” Darcy said, grinning wickedly. “Turns out I can climb that man like a tree. I can be athletic when properly motivated.” She’d had to soak in Epsom salts for her aching muscles, but he had also helped her stretch, then sent her a yoga article about stretching that she’d done before work today. Whalen was actually helpful. She told Alicia while they were doing warm up stretching before the kicking lesson.

“Show me?” Alicia said.

“What are you doing?” Rumlow said, a minute or two later. He’d snuck up behind her.

“Yoga stretch. Whalen taught me,” she said. “I’m trying to get my knees lower, open my hips.” They were sitting in butterfly pose on the floor. She gazed up at Rumlow and wrinkled her nose. Darcy waved a hand. “Dude, you smell like a bar in 2003. Have you been smoking? You don’t eat sugar, but you smoke?”

“Shhh,” Rumlow said, but it was too late.

“Mate,” Jack said, scolding him from ten feet away. “I’m not taking care of you during chemo and the double lung transplant.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Real nice, Jack. How many times did I save your ass?” Rumlow said grumpily, looking over his shoulder at Rollins. “I saved your life in Bolivia _and_ Iceland!” Darcy giggled.

“You two are like an old married couple,” she said.

“We’re not together, for fuck’s sake, why does everybody think that?” Rumlow said. He actually stomped out of the room.

“Can fifty percent of us leave if he leaves?” one of the agents asked Jack. Unfortunately, Rumlow just did a loop around the hallway and came back to make them kick each other. They were doing “handshake” Muay Thai drills today. Alicia and Darcy held hands for stability while one of them tried to kick the other in the ribs while rising onto the balls of the feet. Darcy had been told to modify again and keep her kicks lower.

“Lewis, work on raising your leg in increments,” Rumlow told her. She took her increment too far, lost her balance and took Alicia down with her. They landed in a heap.

“Sorry,” Darcy told Alicia.

“Maybe I should kick and you should practice your hand-holding?” Alicia offered.

“Yeah,” Darcy said, giggling.

“Although you had a death grip on my hand,” Alicia said.

“No, she needs the practice,” Rumlow barked. He was several feet away.

“Oooh, you got Steve ears!” Darcy said, surprised. He walked over as she got up, still looking all grumpy.

“What you mean _Steve ears_?” he said. He was grimacing again. Like he’d sucked on a lemon.

“Good hearing,” she said.

“Maybe you’re just loud,” he said. Alicia raised her eyebrows like _what?_

“Did you want to throw me out of class again? I could use a coffee,” she said, grinning.

“Do the kicks,” he said sternly. Then he stood and watched them while Darcy did twenty. Being watched made her all anxious and her hands started to sweat. She could tell Alicia was nervous, too, so she decided to act like Rumlow was invisible.

“Got any plans this weekend, Alicia?” Darcy asked.

“I’m going to a baseball game. You?” she said.

“Whalen’s taking me to a movie,” Darcy said.

“No, he’s not,” Rumlow said. Darcy put her leg down.

“Huh?” she said.

“They got called on a mission about ten minutes ago,” he said. “He’s out of town.”

“Booooo,” Darcy said. “I like him a lot, Alicia. He’s so much nicer than I realized.”

“Switch roles, so she can kick,” Rumlow said bluntly.

“And tall,” Alicia said, as they swapped.

“I feel like that’s not as much of an advantage for me, though,” Darcy said, scrunching her nose. “Not at my height.”

“No?” Alicia said. Rumlow was looking at the group to their right, seemingly not paying attention, so Darcy answered honestly.

“Ian, my ex, was six-one. Sometimes, during sex it was like he was smothering me in limbs, knees, and elbows. But I don’t like being on top all the time, either,” Darcy said. “That’s not fun. It hurts my damn back.”  Alicia laughed and Darcy realized Rumlow must’ve overheard, because he gave her one of those slow, weird blinks again.

“Sorry,” Darcy said. “Whoops. Overshare.” She snort-laughed.

“You need to work on your core and back strength,” he said, sighing and walking away.

“Wait!” Darcy called across the room. “You mean for sex?” He stopped and half turned.

“Yes,” he said. Then he went and graded journals and he and Jack had some sort of intense, whispered conversation that got a little heated.

 

“What are they talking about?” Alicia asked.

“Workplace sexual harassment,” Darcy said. “Hawkeye taught me some lip-reading. Hey, Jack!” she called. Rumlow sat up straighter. Jack jogged over, frowning.

“Yeah?” he said. Darcy could see Brock watching in her peripheral vision. He looked tense.

“I don’t feel harassed. Calm down. I’m the one oversharing. Are we going to learn how to protect our shins?” Darcy asked.

“Professionals actually damage the nerves with drills to toughen their shins up,” Jack said, sighing and relaxing. “But I think it’s bloody awful.”

“Well, I’m not doing that,” Darcy said firmly. He nodded.

 

***

Whalen was out of town, she discovered after class. He’d emailed her on the quinjet about rescheduling the movie. “I can’t believe Rumlow _smokes,”_ she told Jane, as they had coffee in the lab. “Mr. PE is a smoker?”

“It’s very unfair of him to side-eye your cake with cigarettes in his pocket,” Jane said. “What are you doing?”

“Half-butterfly stretch. Working on my hamstrings might improve my sex life, apparently,” Darcy said. She’d taken her shoe off and propped one socked foot against her other thigh.

“Bucky says it does,” Jane said. “I asked for tips. Thor is very happy.”

“Awww, good. I heard y’all getting some happy through the walls last night.” She yawned. “Do you want more coffee?” Darcy asked.

“Um, yes, always,” Jane said. Darcy got up, put her shoe on, and went to the break room. There were two STRIKE Epilson guys refilling their coffees. It gave her ideas. The STRIKE teams were gossipy and, more importantly, hyper-competitive. It was like Duke vs. UNC or something? She grinned at them.

“Guys, do you know where Rumlow secretly smokes?” she asked.

“It’s loading dock E,” one of them said. “Why?”

“He side-eyes my cake at lunch ‘cause I’m in his PE class,” she said. “I’m gonna get him somehow.”

“He gives you trouble?” the other said, as if this was surprising.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said.

“The man’s a total hypocrite. I don’t even think he does have five percent body fat. I think it’s actually closer to seven,” the first guy said, grinning at Darcy.

“Right?” Darcy said, feeling mischievous. “Show me the receipts!”

“Has anybody seen ‘em? Nope,” the second guy said. “But I wouldn’t think he’d give you shit about your weight,” he said, frowning.

“You’re dating Whalen, right?” the first guy asked. Random, she thought.

“Yup,” Darcy said.

“There you go,” first guy said to second guy. Darcy didn’t get it entirely.

“Thanks,” Darcy said. As she left, she heard them start talking about resource scarcity and competition, for some reason. The STRIKE teams were funny. Feeling extra wicked, she texted Cameron and asked him to alert her when Rumlow looked like he was heading out for a smoke. Then she went back to work, drinking her coffee and listening to stories about Bucky and Jane’s latest readings. That afternoon, she got an alert from Cameron. He helpfully included a facilities map with Rumlow represented as a blue dot. “I’m want to go catch Rumlow and harass him,” she told Jane. “Permission to use my newfound physical fitness to track down a freaking hypocrite, Doctor?”

“Do it,” Jane said, grinning.

 

Loading dock E was in, like, freaking West Virginia, it was so far away. Darcy had to truck it. “Don’t you move, fool,” she told the blue dot. She exited a side door that had been propped open with boxes and turned the corner. “Are you _hiding in the bushes?”_ she said.

“Jesus Christ, Lewis,” Rumlow said, evidently startled. He was hiding amidst some shrubbery, basically. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Give me those cigarettes,” she said.

“What?” he said.

“You’re making me food journal, I’m taking your cancer sticks,” she said. “Hand ‘em over.”

“No,” he said mulishly.

“This is sad. You’re a grown man, hiding in the bushes,” she said. “You’re hiding from Jack, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m stressed, okay? I only smoke when I’m experiencing stress. The year isn’t going well.”

“We’re only a few weeks in,” Darcy pointed out. He grimaced and blew out smoke. “Rude,” she said.

“You think I’m rude? Me?” he said. His eyebrows had gone up. “Let me tell you something, Lewis. You know what’s rude? I’m stuck teaching a physical education course I’m not actually qualified to teach because my boss decided that all the STRIKE teams were fit, so that’s just as good as actual teaching experience. Which is bullshit. Knowing how to do a thing and teaching someone else to do it are totally different skill sets.” He waved his cigarette. “I’m used to working with probie agents who’ve already passed the field course and need hand-to-hand instruction and are excited about it, goddammit. They want to be there. But now I’ve got eighteen students of varying fitness levels assigned to me, I’m trying to modify for everyone’s needs, make sure nobody gets hurt, trying to give people something that might actually be useful. I make a syllabus--have I ever made a goddamn syllabus before?--no. I’m used to working with a set SHIELD course manual. But I make a goddamn syllabus. From scratch with the damn little boxes and Jack asking me to figure out why his Word doc don’t do that and his boxes are misaligned, goddammit. Only apparently my syllabus is _too detailed_ or some shit? Nevermind that the class hasn’t even started yet. The class starts and I try to make it clear that we can modify for everyone, that’s okay. I’m lenient. I want everybody to be happy.”

“You want everyone to be happy?” Darcy said, shocked. He glared at her.

“But oh no, none of you can be happy. The whole class rolls their eyes, glares at me, and laughs in my face. I can see you. I can see all of you. Do you know what it’s like to stand up in front of thirty-five people who don’t want to be there and try to teach when all your students radiate resentment and would clearly rather be anywhere else?” he said.

“Oh,” Darcy said.

“And from you, I get open hostility! You! You have a damn A in my class. An A. Why are you bitching at me and making a scene?” he groused. “What do you want me to do? I don’t have a choice here, either. I’m just doing my job.” He sighed. “And, oh, by the way, I still have my regular job, my regular responsibilities. All this is on top of my current workload.” He smoked grimly.

“I’m sorry I kicked you,” Darcy said quietly.

“I expected to be accidentally kicked, I didn’t expect to be treated like shit, okay? People usually _want_ to work with me. I’m a good teacher, my training classes are popular. I get great evals from the probie agents, I’m not used to this eye-rolling shit. It’s demoralizing,” he said. “And nothing changes, no matter what I try to do differently.” He sighed. “And everyone has an A. You literally can’t fail, unless you stop showing up. What the fuck is everybody giving me attitude for?”

“Rumlow--” Darcy said, when he bent to stub out the cigarette end in a sand-filled bucket that was clearly the ashtray. He straightened up and looked at her.

“I got you a damn discount with my shoe guy! Whenever I suggest anything, you give me that face, but the minute Whalen suggests a stretch, oh, you’ll do that and act like it’s just the best damn thing you’ve ever seen. I showed you that stretch on day one!” he said, shaking his head and reaching for another cigarette. He didn’t have his guard up, Darcy realized. He was vulnerable.

 

She lunged for the packet of cigarettes. “What the fuck are you doing?” he said, trying to hang onto them.

“Give me tho--ahhhhh!” Darcy said. She really didn’t mean to lose her balance and send both of them rolling across the grass as they wrestled for the cigarettes, but there was a slight downhill slope.

 


	5. Cold Turkey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thank you for all the story love :)

“Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you?” Rumlow asked. He’d automatically grabbed her and stopped them from rolling more than a few feet. She was on top of him now. 

“How’d you do that?” Darcy asked curiously. He had a little brown, dead grass in his hair. At least it was merely cold and not icy or snowing.

“I hit my brakes,” he said dryly. “Where are my cigarettes?” He picked his head up a fraction and scanned around them. 

“I dunno,” Darcy lied. They were in her hand. She stuck it behind her back.

“Give me those,” he said, catching onto her movement.

“No,” she said, holding that arm away. She batted at his reach with her other hand.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” he asked. “I can physically overpower you.” He reached again and she swatted at him. “Stop that,” he grumbled. “Just give me my cigarettes and we can get up off the damn ground. My ass is freezing.”

“Nuh-uh, I’m cutting you off. This is a drug. You order me around for my health, I’m taking these and getting you that gum,” she said. “Unless you think you could go cold turkey? Wouldn’t that be faster? Just stop and get the suffering over with?”

“I’m not doing that,” he said.

“Yes, you are,” she said. “This is poisoning you and making you cranky.”

“I’m cranky because you won’t give them back,” he said.

“Phfffft,” Darcy said, wiggling.

“Goddammit, you cannot watch me all the time,” he said. “I’ll just buy more cigarettes.” Darcy narrowed her eyes, thinking.

“I could to watch you all the time, I have people to watch you at work,” she said. “Jack will help me. Thor has Heimdall.”

“You can’t watch me at home,” he said. He smirked when she didn’t say anything. “I won that one, huh?” he said. For a fraction of a second, he looked pleased with himself.

“Don’t look so pleased--” Darcy began.

“What in bloody hell is going on?” a voice said. A frowning Jack was coming out of the building.

“Brock is going to quit smoking,” Darcy said brightly, still lying across his chest.

“I’m not,” he grumbled.

“He’s going to stay with me this weekend,” Darcy said. “And however long after that he needs supervision.”

“What?” both men said in unison. Jack stared down at them.

“He’s staying with me,” she told Jack, reaching up to hand him the cigarette pack, “so he can quit cold turkey. I don’t know if he’s got cigarettes stashed all over his place, so he obviously can’t stay there until we sweep it for hidden caches.”

“You can’t do that, Darce,” Jack said, taking the crumpled packet. Brock was frowning.

“I totally can,” she said. Brock tried to sit both of them up and she pushed him back down again. “Stay down until Jack has moved out of attack range with those poison sticks,” she ordered.

“This is assault,” he said quietly. “I’m a federal agent.”

“Please,” Darcy said, brushing the dead grass out of his hair. “You’re an adorable Parachuting Ken doll, compared to what I’ve lived through. I was with Jane for the month she tried to give up coffee, chocolate, and diet soda  _ at the same time _ . I’ve stayed with her through seven moves, three different citation software systems, the year we lost all digital access to any and all scientific journals because we weren’t affiliated with a university, a Norwegian blizzard with no WiFi, and the time Thor didn’t come back for two years. In London, things got so bad I had to make her shower, change her underwear, and find all the crazy emails she sent when she was drunk and recall them before they got to the recipients. I could detox the Rock off heroin and protein bars without breaking a sweat, Hot & Ready.”

“Hot & Ready?” Rumlow said, raising an eyebrow. He was actually grinning now.

“That’s what Michonne calls you,” she said.

“Oh,” Rumlow said. He looked at Jack. “What?” he said. Jack was making a face.

“Are you bloody lunatics going to get off the ground?” Jack asked.

“I’m comfortable,” Darcy said. “I’m not actually on the ground.”

“Get up,” Rumlow growled. “I haven’t agreed to any of this.”

“I don’t need you to agree when I can just pin you down with the hammer,” Darcy said. “So get with the smoking cessation program. Maybe you won’t end up sleeping on my floor under a thousand year old Asgardian weapon if you cooperate.”

“You can’t make me,” he groused.

“Not even Cap can move Mew-Mew, pal,” Darcy said.

“So, how you going to move the hammer?” he said. 

“I don’t move the hammer, I politely request that she move herself,” Darcy said. “We’re buddies. C’mon.” She scrambled up and Rumlow followed.

“What am I doing?” he muttered.

“Beats me,” Jack said. “You know my feelings about this.”

“What feelings?” Darcy said.

“Nothing. He has no feelings,” Rumlow said.

  
  


***

“Darce, have you lost your mind?” Jane whispered in the kitchen. Brock was laying across her couch, Mew-Mew resting on his belly. There had been one minor escape attempt, after Jack left and he thought Thor wasn’t home yet. He had been wrong. Thor was smiling at him now and chatting about work and Loki and some battle on Vanaheim. Brock looked a little dazed, Darcy thought. He’d fought like a cat you were trying to drag to a bathtub, trying to flee the apartment. At one point, she’d seen him actually wrap his toes around a doorframe. It had been impressive. Thor had to use his stern voice--which Darcy thought sounded suspiciously like an impression of Odin that he and Loki had probably done growing up--to get Brock to stop flailing and cussing.

“This is going to work,” Darcy said. ”I can handle it. Remember when I helped you through the transition from EndNote to RefWorks?” Jane nodded. There was no worse lifestyle change than switching your research and writing software in her mind.

“What are those?” Jane said, peering into the oven. Something dark was was bubbling in an 8x8 Wilton pan.

“Those are gluten-free brownies,” Darcy said. “With coconut flour and coconut palm sugar. I’m going to try to boost his serotonin levels with desserts to ameliorate the nicotine cravings.” 

“Ohhhh,” Jane said. “Well, Thor and I are going, um, somewhere for dinner, so don’t worry about us,” she said, backing out of the kitchen.

“I don’t know why you’re side-eying those, you loved them during your short-lived experiment with a gluten-free diet. Which I also survived,” Darcy called after her. Jane’s impression of a pissed-off cat might be less athletic than Brock’s, but she bit. Brock hadn’t shown any signs of biting, to her relief.

“Was I that bad?” Jane said.

“I brought you homemade cauliflower crust pizza during a Science! Binge, like  _ you’d begged me to make once _ and you burst into tears and wouldn’t stop crying until the Domino’s man got there,” Darcy pointed out.

“I’m sorry,” Jane said. “Do you want me to bring you back some real dessert?”

“Yes,” Darcy said, as Jane got her purse and keys. “I need to survive tomorrow at work, then the whole weekend.”

  
  


“How can they leave the hammer on me?” Brock said, frowning, after the apartment door shut.

“Mew-Mew can find Thor, but thank you for reminding me to crack a window in case of emergencies. She has trouble with doors,” Darcy said, opening the living room window just wide enough for the hammer. “Thank goodness it’s not that cold tonight.”

“Trouble with doors?” he said.

“No thumbs,” Darcy said, “so she just goes right through the wall or the window in an emergency, if no one’s left it open. But she picks an open one if they’re available. You try to be polite, don’t you?” Darcy said, patting Mew-Mew as she passed her to sit on the couch. “She tries.”

“Uh-huh,” Brock said. He looked at the hammer and wiggled. “I thought this would be painful, since I can’t goddamn move, but it’s really like having a housecat sit on you. It’s even warm,” he said.

“Awwww, that means she likes you. She’s chilly if she doesn’t. It feels like a heating pad, right?” she asked. He nodded. “Fantastic when you have PMS,” she told him. “She only feels heavy if you try to lift her, otherwise, we’d need special furniture to sit her on.”

“Interesting physics,” he said.

“I think so, too,” she said. “Your brownies are almost ready.”

“Oh, God, don’t feed me white sugar,” he said. “I can’t quit smoking and eat sugar at the same time. I’ll go mad.”

“I’m not, these are paleo-friendly. They have coconut flour and a blend of agave and coconut palm sugar,” she said.

“I do like coconut palm sugar,” he admitted, frowning a little. “And coconut.”

“Do you want me to make you a paleo coconut frosting?” she said.

“Why are you being so nice?” he said, looking suspicious.

“Because you need serotonin and dopamine in your brain and I feel bad about the class,” she told him. 

“Oh,” he said, rubbing his forehead.  He must have a headache, she thought. 

“I didn’t realize you were having a hard time. I thought you enjoyed torturing me,” she said.

“Why would I enjoy torturing you?” he said, leaning his head back to look up at her, frowning. “Has somebody told you about Project Crossbones or something? Because that wasn’t real,” he said. He put his hands behind his head, one of his fingers brushing her thigh accidentally. 

“No, what’s that?” she asked. The edges of his hair were against her leg, so Darcy patted his hair in what she hoped was a reassuring, calming way. She knew when it was safe to pet Jane during a tough time, but she wasn’t sure about him. It was a test pat. Sometimes, those backfired, but other times, stressed out people responded positively, she knew. He grinned up at her. He must not mind, Darcy thought.

“You don’t know?” he said. “Thor’s never said anything?”

“Nuh-uh,” she said.

“I got kinda hurt trying to catch Pierce during the HYDRA Uprising--Jack got out with Romanoff and Fury, but I wasn’t as lucky--so while I was recovering in the hospital, Fury cooked up this plan to have me extralegally get some stuff back for us under a new identity. Important Chitauri weapons, things like that. My HYDRA cover hadn’t been blown with all the people that were dealing on the black market, so I just pretended to be a crazy ass ex-HYDRA mercenary for a year or so,” he said. “I robbed some places, raided some warehouses, helped Cap get those twins out of a Sokovian fortress. Strucker trusted me because he still thought I was loyal HYDRA, we just walked in the door with Cap, Romanoff, and a couple of STRIKE teams hidden in merc gear.” He laughed. “He was such a dumbass. I hated Nazi Mr. Peanut. It was fun to watch him get punched out a window by Cap, let me tell you,” Rumlow said.

“Robbed banks--you mean Crossbones the terrorist?” she said, staring at him in shock. She’d seen Crossbones on the news. No one had really known who he was; he’d been extensively burned, so he didn’t match any known facial recognition software or leave fingerprints, the news had said. “I thought he died in a fight with Captain America somewhere near the Nigerian border after he stole a biochemical in Lagos?”

“Faked my death,” he said, smiling. “The biochemical had actually been stolen by an employee the week before, so we returned the real one without anyone knowing and fixed the security lapse. Then Fury put me on a quinjet to Helen Cho. She fixed my burn injuries so I could go back to normal work as myself once we eradicated the HYDRA bases. They just said Brock Rumlow had been on medical leave after the Triskelion battle. It all worked out pretty well--we got the Scepter back to Asgard, Thor didn’t tell you?”

“No,” Darcy said. “Thor’s actually pretty good at secrets. Even Tony must not know--he’s talked about wanting to play with that and Thor’s never mentioned having it. Ever.”

“Huh,” he said. “I mean, there’s a dozen or so people who still want me dead because they figured out Fury embedded me and Jack with HYDRA, but”--he shrugged--”that’s not too bad.” He wiggled his neck and she suddenly realized he’d probably be more comfortable with a pillow. “What are you doing?” he said, as she cupped the back of his head. It was sort of amazing, Darcy thought. There was no evidence of scarring at all. She’d been looking at him for weeks. She’d seen those artistic renderings of an unmasked Crossbones. He hadn’t been “kinda injured,” he’d been horrifyingly burned. The oven dinged.

“Putting a pillow under your head and going to check your Paleo brownies,” she said, pushing a strand of hair off his smooth forehead, then standing up. “How are you feeling, cravings-wise?” she asked. He laughed.

“Please don’t ask me that, sweetheart,” he said as she went into the kitchen.

When she got the brownies out of the oven, she looked back towards the couch. She’d thought he he said something. She realized he was talking to Mew-Mew, too low for her to hear distinctly.

  
  


She got him coffee--caffeine might help his headache--and set a plate of frosted brownies on his chest. He ate them, half-propped up on pillows, while Darcy grinned at him. “Good?” she said.

“Uh-huh,” he said, grinning back. He had coconut-flecked dark chocolate frosting on his nose. “Really good,” he said, having a second brownie. He’d finished off a third before he looked up at her. 

“What’s wrong?” Darcy said.

“These are too good to be healthy,” he said, frowning. “How much palm sugar did you put in ‘em?” He looked at her suspiciously.  _ Uh-oh,  _ Darcy thought,  _ he’s in the paranoia stage of withdrawal from nicotine. Logical, detailed explanations needed. Those always work with Jane.  _

“Not that much palm sugar, I swear. That sugar is expensive, you know that. It only comes in those little bags. How could I give you too much palm sugar?” Darcy told him soothingly. To her surprise, he smirked.

“Give me too much palm sugar?” he said wryly. He started to laugh. There was a slight edge to the laughter.

“You’re high on sugar, aren’t you? I’m forgetting you’re not Jane. Her sugar tolerance is higher than yours,” Darcy said, taking his plate.

“Hey, don’t take those, I want ‘em,” he said, laughing and reaching for the plate. She moved it out of his grasp and took it to the kitchen. “Sweetheart, I want your palm sugar,” he called out. 

“You need to drink coffee, you’re going to crash,” Darcy told him. “Maybe I should give you some protein.”

“Nuh-uh,” he said. “I can hack it. I’m tough. Gimme some sugar,” he said.

“You can have more of these tomorrow,” she told him. “What is it you’re always saying in class about pacing yourself?”

“Eh, I never take my own advice,” he said, trying to drink coffee without spilling it. Mew-Mew had obligingly rolled down a fraction so he could sit up more. He started to laugh again. “Palm sugar,” he repeated.

“You’re totally high,” she told him, getting a notebook and her phone. “We need to work on your treatment plan while you don’t have a headache, though. This is what I normally do with Jane when she’s in a mood. With her, I let her sleep as much as possible and I do things to keep her serotonin levels high when she’s awake. The issue with you is that you’re a flight risk, unlike Jane, who tends to get clingy and sad when she’s down. Hmmmmm.”

“You can’t keep the hammer on me all the time,” he said, a wicked gleam in his eyes. 

“Nope, but I’ve made arrangements at work”--she looked down at her phone--“oh, Natasha will loan me some sedating Widow’s Bites. She recommends handcuffing you while you sleep, it’s a Soviet thing, apparently. That seems--”

“Criminal?” he said wryly. “You realize all of this is a crime, right? You’re holding me hostage.”

“Sure, call a cop and tell them a petite woman held you hostage with a magic hammer and fed you too many brownies,” Darcy said. “They’d probably give me one of those child star psych holds if I asked for one.”

“Damn,” he said, sighing, “that’s a good point.”

“You’re just going to have to stay here and tolerate me,” Darcy said. She folded her leg into half-butterfly stretch and he looked up at her. A strange expression washed over his face. She wondered if he was bugged by proximity to her belly pooch after eating those brownies? He had said that sarcastic skinny thing, after all. They were very close to one another, his head almost in her lap now. “Don’t freak out over proximity to my squish, okay?” she said.

“Your squish?” he said, grinning widely. “What’s your squish?”

“My belly,” she said, poking at her stomach. “Also, general areas of squish.”

“Areas of squish?” he said, smirking. She rolled her eyes.

“I’m sure I won’t make you fat,” she told him. “Jane hasn’t gained weight when I’ve detoxed her off of Thor or science journals, so you’ll be fine.”

“What?” he said, moving to sit up reflexively and failing. “Shit. You think I’m worried about that?” he said, looking surprised.

“Well, yeah,” Darcy said. “Aren’t you?”

“Why would I be?” he said. 

“Oh God, don’t make me say it,” Darcy said.

“Say what?” Brock said.

“I overheard you and Jack okay, when you said that about my weight, it’s why I’ve been mad at you in class,” she said. “I didn’t feel guilty about being shitty, because you made me feel bad.”

“Wait, what?” he said. “What did I say?”

“That I was ‘too skinny’ for you,” she said, doing air quotes, “which is a shitty passive-aggressive way to call a girl fat, okay?”

“I did not call you fat,” he said, wiggling. “Dammit, this is a weird conversation to have under a hammer,” he complained. “I want to sit up.”

“Even the subject of my squish makes you want to flee?” she said archly.

“Are you being serious right now?” he said.

“Yes!” Darcy said.

“You don’t know about me?” he said. “Michonne hasn’t told you? Nobody’s told you? It’s practically the first thing anybody says about me.”

“What is?” Darcy said.

 

***

Jane and Thor were having dinner at a Mexican place frequented by SHIELD employees. They’d called Steve, who Thor thought didn’t socialize nearly enough, and met him, Bucky, and Sam Wilson at the restaurant. One of the STRIKE Bravo guys was there, too, so he sat with them. His name was Richardson. “Where’s Darcy?” Bucky asked. He liked Darcy; she was completely unafraid of his metal arm.

“She has this crazy plan to get Rumlow off cigarettes,” Jane said.

“She is holding him hostage with Mjolnir at present,” Thor said, grinning slyly. He thought the entire thing was hilarious.

“You left your cute assistant alone with Rumlow?” Richardson said. “I thought she was dating Whelan? Those two will be shooting each other during field recerts next week. Are you crazy?” 

“What?” Jane said.

“He’ll totally swipe her from poor sad Whalen. It’s Rumlow,” Richardson said, as if it was obvious.

“So?” Jane said.

“He’s a notorious seducer of, uh--?” Richardson paused. “You’re friends with him. What’s the polite term?” he asked Sam Wilson. Sam and Brock had become friends after their fake fight for the HYDRA guys on comms during the Uprising; Rumlow and Maria Hill had secretly helped Cap, Sam, and Natasha escape from Pierce.

“Are you looking at me because I’m a brother?” Sam said. “That is some racist stereotyping shit man. I’m offended right now.”

“C’mon, it’s not like the Greatest Generation or Asgard here knows what I mean. Is it polite to say someone’s a, uh,”--he leaned to whisper  _ chubby chaser  _ in Sam’s ear--”or is that rude?” Richardson asked.

“That’s rude,” Sam said. 

“What?” Jane and Steve said in unison. Bucky just arched an eyebrow and waited for somebody to explain what the hell was going on. Sam cleared his throat and looked at Jane.

“Rumlow likes a curvier woman,” he said.

“Really curvy, not just fake boobs on a skinny girl,” Richardson said. “Everybody knows that.”

“Huh?” Steve said. “I didn’t know that.”

“People don’t gossip with you, Cap. Sorry,” Sam said.

“But he called Darcy fat!” Jane said.

“No way,” Richardson said, putting down his beer. “Did he mean the ph one? That’s the good one.”

“She overheard that he said”--Jane racked her brain for the exact wording--”that she was maybe too skinny or something? Darcy thought he was being sarcastic.”

“Nope,” Sam said, “he likes them very voluptuous. But you probably shouldn’t mention it to his face, because he’s gets touchy about being made fun of, thinks it’s size discrimination.”

“Uh-huh. He punched Sanchez,” Richardson said.

“Is that what that was about?” Steve said. Sam nodded. 

“And never mention it when a famously curvy woman goes on a diet,” Richardson said.

“Man was in a funk for a week when somebody told him about Nigella Lawson, Jack was all worried he might shoot somebody,” Sam said.

“I don’t see why it should matter what size somebody is,” Bucky said quietly. “People are the size they are.” Steve smiled at him.

“Even 98 pound asthmatics?” Steve teased. They had a moment of eye contact and there was no one else in the room. Bucky nodded and Steve kissed him gently.

“Awwwww,” Jane said. 

“Aye,” Thor said. “It does not matter, my friends. Besides, I think he is very much in love with her.”

“What?” Jane said. “You didn’t tell me.”

“You did not ask,” Thor said sweetly. 

“Shit,” Jane said. “She has no idea, she thinks he wants her to have visible abs or something.” At Richardson’s confused look, Jane said, “he has fertility, uh, stuff.”

“I am able to see souls that are compatible, that is all,” Thor said modestly. 

“Poor Whelan,” Richardson said.


	6. The Bargaining Stage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thank you for all your sweet feedback on this story!

Before Brock could answer, Darcy’s cell phone rang. “Hold that thought,” she said. “It’s Whalen.” She answered. “Hi, Jake! Yeah, I’m sorry, too, but we can always reschedule. Okay, yeah,” she said. They made plans to see a movie and she hung up the cell phone. When she looked over, Brock was looking down at Mew-Mew on his belly. “Sorry ‘bout that. What is it?” Darcy said.

“You like Whalen, don’t you?” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” Darcy admitted. “He’s nice. What were you going to say?”

“Doesn’t matter. Not important. About Whalen, he’s a good agent,” Brock said quietly. “I did his hand-to-hand combat training--”

“He was one of your students?” she said.

“Yeah, nice kid,” Brock said. “Very thorough and responsible. Takes meticulous care of his weapons, always follows safety procedures, good head on his shoulders.”

“He’s a much better student than me, then,” Darcy said, laughing.

“You’re a good student,” Brock said.

“No, I’m not, I have attitude, remember?” she said. He grinned.

“He has an advantage--his mother was one of Peggy’s best proteges,” Brock said. “But he takes things seriously, so…”

“So?” Darcy asked, confused.

“If he asks you out, he means it,” Brock said. “He won’t do the whole flake-out, stand you up thing, if he says he’s interested, he’s interested,” he said, sighing. “You don’t have to worry he’s gonna play you.”

“Not a player, then?” Darcy said. “Unlike other people?” She arched an eyebrow at Rumlow and he grinned at her.

“What?” he said. “Me?” He touched his chest in a mock-innocent gesture, looking up at her.

“I saw how you turned on the charm for Michonne, you’re not like that in class,” she said.

“I just have a lot of love in me,” he said, shrugging.

“Sure,” Darcy said, laughing in spite of herself.

“But, uh, you should know that I’m sorry about the skinny thing. I don’t think you’re fat, for God’s sake, I was just being snarky to Jack,” he said. “We just did the sexual harassment seminar, he’s feeling twitchy.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. It didn’t entirely make sense to her, but he could be slightly confused? That was probably it. Brain fog was one of the symptoms of quitting nicotine.

“And you’re not overweight,” he said musingly. “Certainly not pre-1998.”

“What?” Darcy said.

“In 1998, they changed the BMI formulas, sweetheart. Made it stricter. Twenty, thirty million Americans who were normal weight the day before were overweight under the new system. You are probably in that window of people who would have been considered normal weight in the early nineties,” he said.

“Well, shit,” Darcy said. “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s just a metric,” he said calmly. “The problem is, people treat it like a moral failing.” He sighed. “It’s all a ridiculous cultural stigma.”

“Why are you, uh, Mr. Five Percent Body Fat, then?” she said.

“Work,” he said. “I gotta keep working, compete with the ninety year old super soldiers and the thirty year olds.”

“But Jack doesn’t have five percent body fat?” she said.

“Has it escaped for your notice that I’ve got more than a decade on him?” Rumlow said.

“Really? I thought you were, like, 38 or 39?” she said.

“Oh dear God, Lewis, you can’t feed me brownies and tell me you think I’m not forty yet,” he said, laughing. “Look closer at the face.” He waved at hand around his eyes.

“How old are you, because you really don’t look more than late thirties, maybe forty one at most--” Darcy said. He looked incredulous.

“I’m a hundred years old,” he said wryly.

“Seriously, how old are you? Forty-two?” she asked.

“I’m going to be fifty-one in April,” he said.

“What?” she said, stunned. He started to laugh. “I mean, I’m sorry, I really didn’t realize you were that old--oh shit, I didn’t mean old like that,” she said.

“Do I get to be offended and act out in class now?” he teased her.

“But really, that’s amazing,” Darcy said, peering down at him. “Amazing.” She leaned down closer. He had great skin, too. ”How is that possible? What do you do to be in such good shape?”

“Stop it,” he said casually, sounding oddly like she and Jane. “I hate talking about that kind of stuff.”

“Do you use a moisturizer?” she said curiously.

“I use sunscreen.”

“Only sunscreen? What kind of sunscreen?” Darcy said.

“I’m Italian, good genes,” he said, smirking at her and playing with an end of her hair as she studied his laugh lines.

“You’re fifty!” she said stunned, doing a _Saturday Night Live_ voice. “Fifty years old!”

“Be nice,” he grumbled, closing his eyes.

 

He fell asleep a few minutes later. Clearly, a sugar crash. Darcy, feeling a little tired herself, covered him with a blanket and went to bed.

 

***

 

She was woken up at the crack of dawn by Rumlow’s yelling. “Lewis, can someone get this hammer off me so I can pee?” he called. Darcy padded out the living room. She’d heard Jane and Thor come home after midnight.

“Mew-Mew, can you please hop onto the coffee table?” she asked sweetly. The hammer landed with an obliging _thunk_ and Rumlow went to the bathroom. Darcy made a full pot of coffee, like normal, but took out an extra mug for him and texted Jack that he was awake. Jack had volunteered to watch him during the day and drag him to the gym before work. She thought Thor might want to tag along.

“Oh God, that smells good,” he said, sitting down. He was fidgety, she could tell. He kept frowning. She refilled his coffee. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, going to the pantry and pulling out a fistful of protein bars. Thor came stumbling out of he and Jane’s bedroom.

“Do I smell the coffee, my favorite sister?” he said.

“Yup,” she said, handing him a mug. Her phone buzzed. She looked down. “That’s Jack, he can come get you,” Darcy told Brock.

“Where are you going, my friend Crossbones?” Thor said.

“To the gym,” Darcy supplied.

“What?” Brock said. “I thought we were playing hooky from work today?” He frowned.

“Nope, Jack is going to supervise you at work and then I get you for the weekend,” Darcy said. “He’s also bringing you clothes and sweeping your apartment.”

“Oh,” he said, frowning.

“We can go to the gym with Mjolnir,” Thor announced. “I am in the mood to spar. I will tell Jane.” He clapped Brock on the back and headed back to the bedroom, humming happily. Brock sputtered his coffee and glared.

“I’m packing you a bunch of these,” she said, putting a bunch of protein bars in a bag. “But I’m also putting in a brownie.”

“Two brownies,” he said.

“Ah, the bargaining stage,” Darcy said. “Very well.”

“You’re just giving them to me?” Rumlow said. He coughed.

“Of course,” she said. “I don’t have a syllabus, but I’m trying to keep you comfortable and happy, too.”

“Comfortable and happy,” he said, frowning. “I’m going to brush my teeth. I can’t stop goddamn coughing. Can I use your toothpaste?”

“Yes,” Darcy said. “There’s a new toothbrush from my dentist on the counter for you, too.”

“Thank you,” he said, making a face at her. She assumed he was grumpy because he couldn’t think of a plausible excuse to go home and get extra cigarettes. She had all her loopholes covered, Darcy thought, grinning. This wasn’t her first rodeo.

  


***

“What?” Darcy said, when she was working on organizing some of Jane’s secondary equipment on Friday. Darcy could tell Jane was smirking at her. “What’s that face?” Darcy asked.

“How are things with Rumlow?”Jane asked, looking wicked.

“Are you making jokes about the poor, miserable smoker? Because that’s not nice, Janey,” Darcy asked.

“No, just curious,” Jane said. She wouldn’t clarify what she meant to Darcy for the rest of the afternoon. But Darcy was worried Brock would be able to sneak away from Jack. Jack didn’t have Jane-level field experience with smart people doing extremely crazy things; Darcy could think of about five places inside the building Jane would hide to smoke if she was a secret smoker (the little-used bathroom on floor five with the window that opened, that janitorial closet, the stairwells nearest the parking lot, lab forty, where no one would rat you out and they could turn off their smoke alarms for explosion tests, possibly inside a cabinet in the lab if she was desperate). Darcy hoped Rumlow was okay and not going haywire. Supposedly, the first seventy-two hours were awful.

 

She didn’t see him all day on Friday, until Thor brought him home after work. He was exceedingly grumpy and had apparently tried to bolt on Jack twice. Thor and Jane fled to dinner again, leaving Darcy to her babysitting. Smoker-sitting? “I can’t get comfortable under this damn hammer,” he groused from the couch, still coughing. Darcy had read that was one of the expected side effects. He was getting out his lung phlegm like a grandpa. She’d propped him up with a bunch of pillows and gave him tissues and anti-bac. “What are you doing?” he asked, when she got the phone.

“I’m ordering pizza for me, do you want some? Or would you like something else? I have steak,” she said. “I can make cauliflower pizza, but--”

“I don’t want food,” he said. “I’m not hungry, I’m all itchy.” His stomach growled.

“Brock,” she said, using his first name.

“What?” he said.

“You have an appetite,” she said, ruffling his hair a little. He did something between a growl and a groan in response. She grinned at him. “What’s that?” she said.

“I’m not comfortable or happy,” he said. “Let me smoke, Lewis. I need it.” She shook her head. He swore at her. She laughed at his expression. He looked petulant, but it was almost cute. Taking care of him made her feel oddly, well, maternal and affectionate.

“Did you really distract Jack so you could leap down some steps and try to make it to the fleet of SHIELD vehicles?” she asked.

“It was just four steps at the bottom and I went over the handrail to get a little distance. I would have made it, too. Australian sonofabitch hit me with a Widow’s Bite,” Brock grumbled.

“Where?” Darcy said, concerned.

“Back of the neck,” he said. She looked at his neck, lifting him up an inch or two, so their bodies touched briefly. She was sort of bending over him and cradling him slightly on the couch, to see where he’d been hit. The mark from Natasha’s weapon had left a faint bruise and scratch. When she let him go, he gave her a strange look.

“Oh, no, I just boob grazed your shoulder, didn’t I?” Darcy said. “I’m sorry.”

“Barely, it’s fine,” he said, frowning. She realized he’d put one hand on her knee. He withdrew it quickly, but she saw that he was shaking. _His symptoms are getting worse,_ she thought.

“The girls go everywhere, I practically have to harness them down to keep them from making a run for the border,” Darcy joked, as she stood up. “I’m going to get you another brownie and then some protein. Have I told you about the time I accidentally flashed some Norwegians?” she asked, once she’d gotten to the kitchen.

“Huh?” he said, rolling his head to the side to look up at her from the stack of pillows.

“Well, it was summer and we had a heat wave, which I was really excited about because, hey, there are no heat waves in Norway, practically speaking. So, I whip out one of my old halter tops from Puente Antiguo and Jane, Ian, and I decide we’ll go for a drive. Only Ian bitches because we’re fighting and he doesn’t like that I’m not wearing a bra, so he ends up driving and I sit in the backseat by myself,” Darcy explained, slicing a brownie.

“And you flashed some Norwegians to piss him off?” Rumlow said.

“Not me, the seatbelt! Some guys in a car were grinning at me like crazy and I look down and realized the seatbelt was an accessory in right boob’s run for the border-slash-escape from the halter top,” she said. “Entire boob just, like, heyyyyyyyyyyyy, Norway!”

“Why--why did you tell me that story?” he said, laughing and sighing at the same time.

“It’s funny?” Darcy said. “At least, I think it’s funny? Thor does a really great impression of me doing boob safety checks before big events now. I gotta keep an eye on righty, she’s sneaky.”

“My right or your right?” Rumlow asked slyly. She looked up and laughed, it was so audacious. “I’m asking for security reasons,” he insisted, smirking at her. He had a great smirk. Darcy laughed so hard, she almost dropped the brownie.

 

After she’d fed him chocolate and a slab of protein and even talked him into a slice of real pizza, he got all fidgety again. _Post-meal nicotine craving,_ she thought. He kept trying to wiggle out from under Mew-Mew. “I can’t get comfortable,” he complained. Darcy rubbed his hair comfortingly and he jumped a little.

“Did I pull or something?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “But what would Whalen say if he knew you had me here and were playing with my hair?”

“No idea,” Darcy said honestly, “what would your girlfriend say?”

“My girlfriend? I don’t have one,” he said, frowning. Had he lied to Michonne? Darcy decided he might have; he never called anybody. There was no sign of anyone, even though she’d clearly heard him say he’d met somebody. Unless...unless it had fizzled and that was one reason he was smoking? She looked at him sympathetically.

“If Whalen has a problem with me having dude houseguests, he can keep walking. Half of Asgard has slept on my air mattress--”  She stopped.

“What?” he said.

“I’ll work out a deal with you,” Darcy said. “You can quit hammertime if you sleep on the air mattress in my room and don’t try any crazy escapes or something.”

“In your bedroom? You want me to stay in your room?” he said.

“It’s a plastic air mattress, but it’s pretty comfy,” Darcy explained. “But it won’t fit out here easily anywhere but near the front door and I know you’ll try to flee if I leave you unsupervised, so bedroom air mattress it is. I’ll go blow it up, hold on.”

 

She’d made the air mattress and asked Mew-Mew to let him up when he looked at her, blinking slowly, from the doorway of her bedroom. “What?” Darcy said, prodding him a little into the room. “I’ve got real sheets on it. It’s comfy.”

“You want me to spend all weekend in your bedroom?” Brock said. “You realize how this is gonna look, right?” He scanned her bedroom, then looked at the air mattress next to her bed. She’d made it all up for him.

“Yeah, the same way it looked when Sif crashed there and her feet stuck off the edge and she accidentally punctured it with one of her knife pokey things,” Darcy said. “What are those called? They look like gardening tools from Hell.”

“No clue. You and Sif were roomies, huh?” he said, smirking. His expression had gone all naughty.

“I didn’t know horniness was a side effect of quitting smoking,” Darcy said, putting her hands on her hips.

“Mmmm,” he said noncommittally. “You can’t keep me in here, you know that, right?”

“I can’t, but she can. Mew-Mew!” Darcy called. The hammer floated into the room, then advanced menacingly on Brock.

“Hey, hey,” Brock said, holding up his arms, “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

They mostly stayed in the apartment all weekend, except for a brief outdoor jaunt to fly kites with Thor and Jane. Brock was super-patient with her, despite his grumpiness, but she finally made him go home and take a nap when they flew their kite straight into a huddle of smokers. He was fun to have around, even through bouts of crankiness. She’d assumed he would try to escape her again, but it turned out they both liked _Real Genius_ and homemade popcorn. “How you eat that without butter, I’ll never know,” Darcy told him, after they’d had a long discussion on relative merits of Val Kilmer movies.

“I’m making an exception today,” he said, sprawled next to her on her bed. She had to repress a giggle when he ate a fistful of buttered popcorn. They were hanging out in her room, because Thor was watching football in the living room and sports wound Brock up too much. He got anxious and wanted to smoke when the scores were close.

“Do you get wound up over X-Games?” Darcy said, channel surfing. She loved those adorable bike-flipping lunatics who said things like “stoked” and had Jane-levels of crazy fearlessness.

“Uhhh, I don’t know,” he said. “What’s that? I don’t watch that much television.”

“Oh my God, you’ve never seen it? I sort of assumed you and Jack did this stuff in your free time,” Darcy said.

“I work and I go to the gym and I sleep,” Rumlow said. “It’s kinda sad.”

“Awwwww,” Darcy said. “Well, watch this.” She flipped a channel. “That baby-faced kid is going bike off that big ass ramp.”

“What?” Rumlow said.  He watched and his mouth dropped open as the kid rotated through the air. “Jesus Christ, he’s seventeen. Is that legal?”

“Isn’t it awesome?” Darcy said.

“Shit, I wanna do that,” he said, when they got to the crazy flip skiing. “Do you have to be twelve?” he asked.

 

***

 

On Sunday morning, Darcy was woken by a nervous-sounding Brock “Lewis, your mirror looks funny,” he said. She had an Asgardian mirror above her dresser.

“Oh, that’s not a regular mirror,” Darcy said, as the face of Queen Frigga appeared in the glass.

“Darcy, I’m glad I’ve found you well,” Frigga said in her soft, elegant voice. Her eyes moved down to Brock on the air mattress. “And friend of Darcy,” she said, smiling wryly.

“Good morning, your majesty,” Darcy said, grinning. She liked Frigga. Also, she suspected Frigga had a wicked sense of humor under the regal manner. She’d seen the Queen of Asgard totally check out Heimdall’s butt once. She appeared to be checking out Rumlow’s abs at present. Kinda obviously.

“I’m not naked,” Rumlow said quickly, “I just took off my shirt because the air mattress is warm.”

“Of course not,” Frigga said, appearing to humor him. “My son is indisposed, but I wondered if you would pass on a message from Loki?”

“Sure,” Darcy said.

“He requests a certain Midgardian book--perhaps you could find it for him?” Frigga said, too-innocently. Darcy grinned.

“I can always try,” Darcy said, getting the notebook from her nightstand and asking Frigga for the name. Before she signed off, Frigga looked down at Rumlow, scrutinizing him. She sighed.

“Ma’am?” he said politely.

“At least you are brunette, that gives me hope,” she said, smiling slyly. Darcy grinned.

 

“What did that mean?” Rumlow said, after the mirror had returned to its normal appearance.

“She wants me and Loki to have a big, sweeping interrealm romance, but he doesn’t like me all that much. Thinks I’m too short and near-sighted,” she explained.

“Like he’s good enough,” he scoffed. “Thor’s indisposed?” His expression was quizzical.

“That’s a fancy lady way of saying Heimdall told her Thor and Jane were banging, my dude,” Darcy said.

“They left an hour ago,” Rumlow said, frowning.

“Jane likes sex in the woods, she’s much more outdoorsy than me,” Darcy said, shrugging. “I like beds, personally. I don’t want ticks in sensitive areas.”

“Ughhhhhh, Lewis,” he said, putting a hand over his eyes. “You gotta stop oversharing with me.”

“But did you realize ticks like the groin and butt? They’re perv parasites,” she said.

“Oh God,” he said.

“Are you going to report me to HR?” she said. “Speaking of skeevy-sounding stuff, we have a family massage package if you want to get one next week. You should be over the worst of your cravings in a few days.”

“You’re putting me on your family plan? As who?” Rumlow asked.

“Jane and I are sisters. Ooh, you could be our dad!” Darcy said. “We don’t have a dad on the plan and you’re sorta old enough.”

“No,” he said.

“Really? I mean, it could work,” she began.

“Absolutely not.”

“You sounded like a dad then,” she said.

 

***

Darcy went out with Whalen on Monday night, leaving Brock in Thor and Jane’s custody. She’d been looking forward to it. On Michonne’s advice, she’d let him pick the movie. First mistake. Whalen loved horror movies. Horror movies were her kryptonite. Darcy could handle Hitchcock, the occasional psychological ghost story, and loved thrillers, but she hated gore. And this was one of those torture-y ones. She spent most of the movie with her eyes closed, trying to block the awful sounds from the screen. Ugh.

Afterwards, she and Jake walked around the shopping center with their drinks and the extra popcorn she’d bought for Thor. She explained her project to help Rumlow quit smoking by staying with them and he nodded. “He says you’re a good student, very serious,” Darcy said. He smiled sweetly, then looked away.

“There’s, uh, something I should tell you about myself,” Jake said, swallowing. “Something important.”

“Yeah?” Darcy said. If he wanted to go to a Horror Con, she would die.

“I’m, uh, looking for a serious commitment,” he said. “Something real. And I, uh, don’t do casual sex--I want to wait on marriage.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. “Oh.”

“You’re freaking out, aren’t you? You look like I just told you I hit someone with a car,” he said wryly.

“We made out in the parking lot at work!” Darcy said.

“I didn’t say I was dead,” he said teasingly. “You think I’m crazy?”

“No, not crazy. I, uh, don’t think you’re crazy. I can respect wanting a serious relationship, but um--”

“You can say it,” he said, chuckling.

“It’s like buying a car you’ve never driven! And you’re going to keep it until you die! What if you hate the noises the sound system makes in the heat of the moment or the upholstery itches?” Darcy said.

“The sound system?” he said, grinning

“It’s a metaphor,” Darcy said. “Besides, you know that people make weird noises. All kinds of funny sounds--I mean, last night, I woke up because Rumlow was talking about espresso in his sleep and then tried to sleepwalk out the door and I had to call the hammer--what?” Whalen was laughing.

“You two will make a nice couple,” he said seriously.

“No, it’s not like that. We’re buddies,” she said. “He’s like Jane, only he doesn’t bite.”

“Uh-huh,” Whalen said, looking up at the night sky and grinning. It was an oddly Steve-like expression.

“No all male-female friendships are sexual, okay?” she said.

“Darcy,” he said, stopping and putting his hands on her shoulders. “You’re nursing a heavily-armed man through nicotine withdrawal out of the goodness of your heart?”

“He’d never hurt me,” she said, thinking he meant it was dangerous.

“Nice try,” he said, shaking his head.

“What?” Darcy said.

“And he’s just like Jane?” Whalen said.

“Well, I don’t let her have a gun, she can get scary. He might actually be easier than Jane,” she admitted.

“Darce, how do you feel about Jane?” Whelan said, smiling gently.

“I--I--she’s my bestie! We’re like sisters,” Darcy said.

“You love Jane,” Whalen said. “Maybe not romantically, but you’re emotionally attached to Jane. You’re family. Think about that a little.”

 

“How was your date?” Jane asked when Darcy walked through the door.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Darcy said. She sighed. “I wore my cute dress and did my nails for nothing.” She was slightly annoyed at Whalen for the horror movie and implying that there was something between her and Brock.

“What’d he do?” Brock said, alarmed, from where Mew-Mew had him pinned down in their Thor-sized armchair.

“Horror movie,” she said, sighing. His eyebrows went up.

“She hates horror movies,” Jane supplied.

“Oh,” Brock said.

“Did you misbehave?” Darcy said sharply. “Why are you under Mew-Mew?”

“He attempted to escape by climbing down from the balcony,” Jane said, grinning.

“Snitch,” Brock muttered.

“I’m going to go put on yoga pants,” Darcy said, sighing. “I cannot believe you tried to escape _again_ after the night I had.”

“Sorry,” Rumlow said. He sounded sincere.

“That bad?” Jane said to Darcy.

“He doesn’t believe in sex before marriage!” Darcy called back. She heard a choking noise. “Y’all okay?” she said.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Don’t laugh at me, Foster,” Brock grumbled. “Can somebody let me up here?” Darcy heard him ask. She was changing in her room--yoga pants half on, bra totally visible--when he just freaking walked in. “Are you ok--shit,” he said. He disappeared back behind the door. “Sorry,” he said.

“Ughhhh,” Darcy said in frustration.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made Frigga be alive, because she's awesome and I miss her.


	7. Alone Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos! Y'all are the best.

“Lewis, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--” Rumlow began, as soon as Darcy opened her bedroom door.

“To see me half-naked?” Darcy said archly.

“Of course not,” he said, “I just wanted to check on you.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said, feeling all flushed and a smidge hostile. _He pretends not to be bothered by my cellulite and my wiggle, but I saw his face go all funny,_ she thought bitterly. “Look, I’m really tired, so maybe you should sleep out in the living room tonight. I’ll move your air mattress.”

“You’re kicking me out?” he said.

“I need some alone time,” she said, seizing the corner of the air mattress.

“Let me help,” he said.

“I can do it myself, I’m not a total weakling, okay?” Darcy said.

“I know you’re not,” he grumbled. “What did Whalen say to you?”

“Nothing,” Darcy said.

“Don’t seem like nothing,” he said. She practically shut the bedroom door in his face. Jane came to check on her later, but she just called out that she was fine and went back to sulk-reading a book. She didn’t feel like talking to anybody. Her brain kept alternating between horror movie noises from tonight (guy being fed through a wood-chipper, general stabbing) and the look on Rumlow’s face when he’d seen her in her underwear. She sighed and picked up her bedroom TV remote. She needed a distraction to clear her mind.

 

***

Darcy was trying to sleep that night when she heard a sound. “Shit,” she said. She could tell it was Rumlow, probably escaping. She had not suffered through his mood swings and crankiness to let him get away now. She bolted out of the bed. “Rumlow!” she said sharply, when she found him at the refrigerator. He didn’t turn. He was shirtless and barefoot in his sweatpants. “Rumlow?” she repeated. He was sleepwalking again. To her amazement, she realized he was eating Thor’s chocolate chip cookie dough. “Holy shit, you’re eating it right out of the tube!” she said. “In your sleep!” His glazed eyes didn’t register her voice until she pried the tube out of his hand. “Hey, Rumlow, you’re sleepwalking again,” she said. She knew he wouldn’t remember this at all tomorrow.

“Hmmm,” he said.

“Come with me, you’re going to bed,” she said, leading him by the elbow to her bedroom. He was fairly docile during these episodes, even when she’d caught him trying to leave. That night, he’d seemed convinced that the front door led to his kitchen. “Stay here, okay?” she said, sitting him on her bed. “I’ll get your air mattress back in here.”

 

She dragged it back into the bedroom. That was when she realized he was snoring. He’d fallen asleep in her bed. “Hells freaking bells,” Darcy said. “I give up!” She crawled in on her side of the bed and fumed. She couldn’t figure out why she was so bugged. “Damn it, damn it,” Darcy muttered. She felt all edgy and turned her back on Rumlow. It was difficult to look at the tattoos on the backs of his arms without wanting to touch them reflexively. She got up, went to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on her face. What was wrong with her? In the mirror, her face looked tired. Obviously, it was too much proximity to him and his crankiness and judgy faces. And he was in her bed. But she needed to sleep. They had PE tomorrow. She went back into her room and crawled under the covers. She stared at at the twinkle lights that she’d strung around the windows and tried to sleep. Rumlow shifted in the bed. He was so irritating like that. Suddenly, Darcy felt a strong arm loop around her torso and pull her against his chest.

“Rumlow, what are you doing?” Darcy asked.

“Mmm,” he said.

“Are you awake?” she asked, turning her head a little. His eyes were open, but they had that glassy sleepwalking look. He was totally out of it. She didn’t feel like fighting her way out of his grip, but she wiggled to see how he’d respond. Maybe he’d let her go? Instead, Rumlow pulled her closer. He was warm like a space heater and his arms were weighty, which didn’t surprise her. What he did next was startling, though: he leaned down and kissed her ear in his sleep. He kissed her several times, pressing his mouth behind her ear. She shivered. Should she wake him up? This was in no way consensual on his end, if he thought she was somebody else and would have no memory tomorrow.

“Mmmm,” he repeated.

“Brock--ohhhh,” she said. Darcy made a sound as he shifted to kiss her shoulder, his stubble tickling her neck. It felt great, she thought, but he had no idea who he was cuddling. She sighed. He probably dreamed he was snuggling someone from the Victoria’s Secret catalog. Or someone elegant, who didn’t have to fight her way into yoga pants, jiggling like Santa. Maria Hill, probably. Maria never seemed to look sweaty or puffy and Darcy had seen her after a seven hour flight to London, one small lab explosion, and one DC hurricane-related SHIELD facilities lockdown, when the essential personnel had to sleep on cots in the building. Like Pepper Potts, she had the magical ability to always look cool and polished and made Darcy feel short and frump by comparison. She meditating on how how sweaty she’d get being snuggled by Rumlow--he was so warm--when he said something.

“Sweetheart,” he muttered in his sleep, “I'm crazy ‘bout you.”

“Sure you are,” Darcy said dryly.

“Mmm-hmmm,” he said, kissing her again. Then he stopped. _Okay, good,_ Darcy thought. _I don’t have to wake him up and tell him that he was practically licking my ear._ She thought he’d gone to sleep until a few minutes later;  he caressed her belly, his hands pressing against her.

“Stop touching my squish, Brock,” Darcy grumbled, feeling a spike of arousal that was followed by a pang of guilt. To her frustration, he actually laughed in his loopy state.

“Squish,” he muttered.

“Shut up,” Darcy said.

“I love squish,” he murmured.

“Right, sure,” Darcy said. She fell asleep in his stupidly strong arms, though.

 

***

When she woke up, he was already gone. “Where’s Brock?” she asked Jane, when she padded sleepily out to the kitchen.

“He left already,” Jane said. “Jack came and got him for a meeting or something. He said not to wake you because he must’ve sleepwalked last night.”

“Oh, yeah,” Darcy said. “I’m so tired. I busted him eating Thor’s cookie dough. Right out of the fridge!”

“That is hilarious,” Jane said, laughing. “Darce, there’s something--”

“Oh, shit,” Darcy said, spotting the oven clock behind Jane. “I’m going to be late. But can you drive?" Jane nodded. "I need to text Michonne. I’m going to have her fix up Whalen with Chelsea from R&D,” Darcy said.

“Oh good choice,” Jane said. “We can talk later.” Jane looked weirdly pleased, Darcy thought, but she didn’t have time to ask when she was going to be late for PE. She was feeling guilty about Whalen, too. She’d probably been too harsh towards the poor man, she realized. Horror movies _always_ put her in a bad mood. Darcy would get the images wedged in her brain and not be able to shake them. She texted Michonne as Jane cussed at DC traffic and changed lanes like a Nascar driver:

 

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** So, it turns out Whalen’s a no-sex before marriage guy? He and I aren’t gonna work, but he’s sweet, so please fix him up with a nice girl. Maybe that religious assistant in R&D, Chelsea?

 **Goddess of HR:** Oh Lordy, no sex?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Nope

 **Goddess of HR:** Don’t worry, I got your next date all lined up.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Uhhh, do I have to?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Who is it?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Michonne?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Are you ignoring me now?

 **Goddess of HR:** You’ve got a date on Wednesday. 7pm. Good one. Cassidy from Analytics.

 

***

Darcy was still tired when she showed up for PE class. She’d turned the corner at the hallway leading to gym when she spotted Rumlow, talking to someone at the other end of the corridor. A thin, very tall blonde, dressed in business casual. _That,_ Darcy thought, seeing his face, _is probably who he was thinking of when he called me sweetheart last night._ They were laughing and smiling at one another. She was exceptionally pretty. The blonde rolled up her sleeve as Darcy walked towards the gym door. "Here is it," the blonde said.

“You’ve got a scar there?” she heard Rumlow say. He looked oddly bashful. “Sharon, I am so sorry.” He was actually looking at her arm and reaching out and touching it? How weird.

“C’mon, Brock, it’s not a big deal,” she told him. “You know that. Nobody even notices--”

 

Darcy dropped her journal by his chair at the front and got on her bike, greeting Alicia. “What’s wrong?” Alicia said.

“Bad date,” Darcy said smoothly.

“Did you kick him?” Alicia said. Darcy laughed.

“Not that kind of bad date, thank God. Just mutual incompatibility. And Michonne’s still setting me up with people and the whole idea just makes me tired,” Darcy said. “Maybe I should cancel on Mr. Wednesday?”

“Why are you doing things you don’t want to do?” Alicia said.

“God, I feel like all I do is things I don’t want to do or things that are getting on my last nerve all of sudden,” Darcy said. She gestured at the bike beneath her. “You make an excellent point. I miss my happy lab place with music and Pop-Tarts and sitting my fat ass down,” Darcy said to her. Alicia laughed so loud she snorted and several of the other desk jockey employees joined in.

“High five, Lewis!” one of the guys who was always trying to lead the class walkouts said.

“Are you leading a bloody rebellion?” Jack said teasingly, walking over to them.

“No, Jack,” she said. “I swear, I’m not.” But it inspired Darcy to do something. She actually got off the warm-up bike and went over to her bag to get her phone and text Michonne that she was not going on a date--that she needed a little me time to decompress and get her game back. She’d put her phone back when she heard a female voice call out to Rumlow in the hallway:

“Bye, Brock! Try not to injure any of your students!” the blonde said.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to make it up to you, Sharon? Concert tickets? Spa weekend?” he said.

“No!” she called back, laughing.

 

He was _so_ into her Darcy thought, going back to her bike. Was this the mystery girlfriend? She was convinced it was when he came back into the gym looking all happy and well-rested. As soon as he saw she was there, he frowned. He didn’t come over and say anything, though. Not _hey, sorry I kept you up with my sleepwalking_ or _didn’t mean to wake up in your bed, sorry ‘bout that._ Not even _I’ll replace Thor’s cookie dough._ Of course, he probably didn’t remember the cookie dough. Or kissing her. _Ughhhh,_ Darcy thought. _So rude._ They’d moved onto punching. She hit the bag extra firmly when she noticed him hovering. He cleared his throat.

“Put your shoulders down a little, don’t tense, Lewis,” he said, coming around to adjust her posture. “Hey,” he whispered, his mouth very near her ear, “are you okay?"

"Yeah," she said.

"You sure?" he asked. She nodded. He frowned slightly. "Uh, we’ll talk tonight, okay?” Rumlow said.

“Sure,” she said noncommittally, trying not to blush when he touched her. 

 

***

When she got back to the lab, there was a note from Jane: _Gone on a class field trip with Bucky and Steve. Thor’s coming, too. Won’t be back until tomorrow. Taking the car, so Brock is driving you home. I texted him. -Jane_

“Oh,” Darcy said glumly.

She’d said it out loud.

In an empty lab.  

 

She spent the rest of the afternoon sitting by herself in the lab listening to music. It was at least peaceful and didn’t involve cardio, kicking, or punching. At four-thirty, Brock appeared in the doorway, holding coffee. “Hey,” he said. “Got you a latte.”

“Oh, thanks,” Darcy said, grabbing her bag. “Are we leaving?”

“Actually, I need to, uh, run an errand,” he said. He looked a little funny, she thought. “I thought I could give you my keys, meet you back at the apartment.”

“No,” she said.

“What?” he said, eyebrows going up.

“Absolutely not,” she said. “I’m not letting you go smoke, goddammit.”

“Darcy, I don’t want to smoke, I’m doing good--”

“You were eating cookie dough out of the fridge at 3:12am, you’re clearly stressing,” she said. He sighed.

“Shit. Okay, fine. Come with me,” he said. “Change in plans.”

“I bet so,” she said sharply. He looked at her.

“Oh God,” he said. “Look, look, I want to explain--let’s talk in the car, it’s more private, okay?”

“Yeah?” Darcy said. They rode the elevator to the parking garage in silence. He fidgeted, she drank her latte. The ride seemed very long.

“Do you hate me right now?” he asked, suddenly hitting the stop button on the elevator’s panel.

“What?” Darcy said, as the elevator shuddered to a halt.

“I wanted to make you dinner, explain about this, apologize, but I can’t stand the idea of it sitting between us while I grocery shop and we both pretend nothing happened,” he said.

“What?” she repeated.

“Last night’s happened before,” he said, raking a hand through his hair anxiously. “After HYDRA, I had trouble sleeping. Stress and PTSD-related shit, you know? Well, my doctor gave me a sleep med. That’s when the sleepwalking started. And, uh, I knew about that for awhile before a girlfriend clued me in to the other thing,” he said, sighing. He paused. “Sorry, I--I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say anything horrible to you last night.”

“Say anything?” Darcy said.

“Did I try to talk you into sex?” he said, looking miserable. “Apparently, it’s a whole thing I do that I can’t actually remember. I didn’t get creepy or dirty with you or anything, did I?”

“No,” Darcy said. “You, um, were up walking around, eating cookie dough, so I walked you back to my room, then went to get the air mattress, and you’d fallen asleep already. So, I just went to bed. You got a little cuddly, but you didn’t try have sex with me, okay?” she said. It was more or less the truth. She wasn’t going to mention the squish thing or the kissing.

“Oh thank God,” he said, looking relieved. “I was really worried I’d tried something with you.”

 

Was it her imagination, or had he stressed the last two words?

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So people who sleep walk--I've never met a sleep walker--apparently look awake and sometimes engage in weird conversations and activities, but don't remember them because they're in the deepest part of REM sleep?


	8. Nothing, Nothing At All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos!

“You okay?” Brock said to her, when they’d pulled up at a DC grocery store.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just tired,” Darcy said quietly.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said. To her surprise, he reached across and touched her hair. “How to do you feel about penne arrabbiata?” he asked.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Penne with a spicy tomato sauce,” he said. “You’ve been cooking for me all the time, it’s my turn to take care of you.”

“Sounds good,” she said, trying to smile.

“You want to stay in the car or go in with me?” he said.

“I’ll go in with you,” she said, remembering that he could buy cigarettes without supervision and unbuckling her seatbelt. She followed him inside as he grabbed a shopping cart. It was cold outside. Darcy was shivering a little when the automatic doors opened with a _whoosh._

“Hey,” he said, “you warm enough?” To her surprise, he stopped just inside the store, tucked his arm over her shoulder, and rubbed his hands down her jacket sleeves a few times. “I run warm,” he said.

“I know,” she said. He looked at her sheepishly.

“You wouldn’t lie to me if I said something terrible, would you?” he said.

“No,” Darcy lied.

“Darcy, you just lied to me,” he said, grinning. “You’re really terrible at lying, by the way.”

“Okay, fine. You didn’t know it was me when you said it, obviously,” Darcy said. “It wasn’t anything dirty, though, so don’t worry about it. Which aisle?”

“Hey,” he said, grabbing her hand, “what’d I say?” His fingers were warm. He rubbed her cold hand. “Tell me, sweetheart,” he said, raising his eyebrows and gazing down at her. He gave her a look.

“Nope,” Darcy said, shaking her head. She refused to tell him, so instead he talked about food as they went down the pasta aisle and the aisle where they sold the canned tomatoes. He had strong opinions about the best canned tomatoes for pasta sauce--San Marzano-style plum tomatoes--but was philosophical about buying ones grown in the US. “Why is this one thirty dollars a can?” Darcy asked, catching his eye roll at one of the expensive brands. “What makes it special?”

“Because a food snob and his money are easily parted, baby. That can was shipped all the way from Italy for the idiot market. My grandparents used to grow plum tomatoes in a damn planter on the back porch and that was the best sauce I’ve ever had. They don’t literally have to be from Naples to be good plum tomatoes. The dirt in this country is fine,” he said. Darcy laughed at that one. She followed him around the store and listened to his opinions on dried pasta brands.

“You’re not getting whole wheat?” she asked. She’d imagined him as someone who ate whole wheat pasta.

“Bite your tongue,” he said. “Semolina if I can get it, never whole wheat.”

“Thank God,” Darcy said. He grinned at her.

“Pasta should be pasta, sweetheart. How do you feel about garlic?” he asked.

“Love it,” Darcy said.

“That’s my girl,” he said. Darcy blushed involuntarily. “Did I call you my girl last night?” he asked, grinning.

“No,” Darcy said, blushing more.

“But I said something, didn’t I?” he said. “Dear God, what did I say? Do you know all the damn possibilities running through my head right now?”

“Cut it out,” Darcy said, biting her lip.

“Okay,” he said, smirking. On the wine aisle, he looked at her. “Red or white?” he said.

“White,” she said. “I have trouble finding a red I’d like.”

“What kind of whites do you like?” he asked.

“Umm, rieslings, white zinfandels, moscatos, sauvignon blancs, the un-oaky chardonnays, prosecco, champagne, all the girly ones,” she said.

“You ever tried Lambrusco?” he asked. She shook her head. “I think you’ll like it,” he said, grabbing two bottles. “It has a bad rep because it was the, uh, trashy sweet wine of the seventies at one point, but it’s good, trust me. And we’ll get you a nice boring Australian white wine that’s no fun like Jack,” he said jokingly.

“You love Jack like a brother,” she told him.

“He’s cramping my style right now, so he’s not my favorite person,” Brock said cryptically, as they steered towards the cheese. He must mean because Jack wouldn’t let him smoke, Darcy thought. She helped him pick out a hunk of parmesan. She caught him giving her a funny look when she picked out the biggest hunk of cheese.

“What? I love cheese,” she told him. “Not everybody hates dairy, mister.” She tossed her hair.

“Uh-huh,” he said, smirking. “I never said I did, sweetheart.”

“Don’t be so smug about your body fat, then,” she told him.

“I wasn’t thinking about that at all,” he said, still looking down at her. Darcy felt a strange shiver up her spine when he licked his lips. It made her think of sex, even though he was probably just craving a cigarette.

 

***

Back at the apartment, he looked at her as he unpacked the groceries. “What if you take a bath while I make the sauce, sweetheart? Can I draw you a bath?” he said.

“You want to draw me a bath?” Darcy said, astonished. “Why not pour me some wine, too?”

“I can do that,” he said, grinning. “You have a chilled bottle?’ He checked the fridge. That was how Darcy found herself soaking in Epsom salts and drinking sauvignon blanc while Rumlow cooked in her kitchen. _Why was he being so nice_ ? _Shouldn’t he be more cranky? Was this a trick?_

“You better not be running out for cigarettes!” she yelled, realization dawning.

“Nope,” he called back. “Don’t want to smoke.” He murmured something too low for her to hear. More sarcasm?

 

A flushed and slightly buzzed Darcy climbed out of the tub and wrapped herself in a bathrobe. “Are you still here?” she yelled.

“Sweetheart, I might never leave,” he called back. “Just move in, follow you around like a puppy,” he said. Darcy laughed. She put her favorite Vanilla Bean Noel body cream on and spritzed herself with a fruity fragrance mist that Jane had bought her as a surprise. She hadn’t been wearing perfume much since she started working out at work--she didn’t want to bother someone in the gym with anything scented--and realized she missed smelling nice. Usually, she wore Coty Vanilla Musk or Bath and Body Works everyday and a fancy one called BonBon that Ian had bought her as a birthday gift on special occasions.

“Sure,” she called. “What would you do all day?”

“What would I do? I think I could make myself useful,” he said. Was it her buzz or did he sound teasing?

“And what would your blonde friend say?” she wondered in a low voice, squeezing the water out of her hair. More loudly, she asked if he could be in charge of the wine.

“That a yes?” he called back. “I’d definitely keep you in wine, but I might have an objection to this whole Loki business.”

“Loki business?” Darcy said, emerging from the bedroom in her robe, carrying an empty wine glass. She wanted to make sure there were no cigarettes in sight.

“His hair is greasy and he’s a genocidal maniac, baby,” Brock said, before he turned to look her. He stared for a second.

“Am I that terrifying without makeup?” Darcy asked. He laughed.

“Very cute,” he said, grinning. “Get in here, tell me how spicy you like your arrabiata?” He gestured at her. Darcy tasted the sauce, wedged between his body and the stove.

“It’s very good,” she said.

“More spicy?” he asked. His voice was low in her ear. She felt a throb of arousal when his breath ghosted against the side of her neck. “Tell me how you want it?” Brock said.

“How I want it?” she said archly.

“Mmm-hmm,” he said. “You smell good. I like that.”

“Thanks,” Darcy said, hoping there would be no follow up question.

“What is it?” he asked, leaning closer. _Damn,_ she thought.

“Um, Tempting Paradise?” she said. “It’s weird name, I know,” she said. “Blame Sofia Vergara, it’s one of hers.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, chuckling. “Tempting, huh? You smell delicious, like this pineapple coconut crème brûlée I had once, years ago.”

“You had crème brûlée?” she said, shocked.

“It might have been an 60-40 split between me and my date,” he said. “But it was memorable.”

“Oh. Thank you. I’m going to, uh, get dressed,” Darcy said, self-consciously. He was so close to her and she could feel herself responding physically to him: her heart was racing and she was sweating a little. She went into her bedroom and sat on the bed for a second, trying to calm down her heart rate. If this was anybody else making her dinner, refilling her wine, and asking her how spicy she liked her red sauce, she’d assume they were flirting. Really flirting. But this was _Brock._ He wasn’t interested in her. She shouldn’t do anything stupid. He was her friggin’ PE teacher. She’d sworn a vow to always hate people who made her do sit ups, right? An accidental bit of sleep-snuggling shouldn’t be making her crazy like this. Plus, he probably had women throw themselves at him constantly. A hot STRIKE commander without kids? Darcy remembered how business-like he’d been when they first met. She could barely stand the sight of him and his freaking whistle then. Odds were, he’d only warmed up to her because she wasn’t referring to him as her “Dream Future Husband” or trying to introduce him to her family or something like that. And that was why he was doing this: to repay her for being a good friend. She’d be no better than those guys who’d pretended to be her friends and then gotten drunk and grabbed her boobs if she threw herself at Brock now.

 

She sighed at her reflection in the Asgardian mirror. Darcy had to mentally remind herself that the date he’d mentioned splitting dessert with was probably some extremely polished blonde like that Sharon from this morning. Sharon probably knew how to work an iron. Sharon’s shoes didn’t have scuffs on the toe where she tripped over her own feet. Sharon didn’t spill things everywhere. Sharon had a 401k and was already implementing a sensible life plan that included an elaborate wedding and children in a good school and was a good two to three years younger than her, probably. She was a broke hot mess by comparison. Soon she’d be all that and over thirty, according to Michonne’s online dating-age formulas. She sighed. “Darcy?” Brock called, as if he’d heard her internal mope-spiral.

“Yeah?” she said.

“Can I play some of your music?” he asked.

“Yes,” she called back. “I’ll be right there,” she said, as the music started in the living room. She paused. Darcy had expected him to be a rap guy, honestly. At least something with a heavy, thumping bass that made him look tough, youthful, and masculine. Maybe grunge or metal when he was working out. She could easily imagine him beating the hell out of a punching bag to “Blood in the Cut.” But he was playing softer music, she realized. One of her Lila Downs mixes. What a funny choice. Darcy put on yoga pants and a shirt. She picked one of her favorite shirts, just to feel more confident. People said the teal color made her eyes look pretty and the scoop neck meant she wouldn’t feel the need to pull her shirt down all night. High-necked shirts tended to ride up awkwardly when you had boobs, so she always chose scoop necks or v-necks to feel more comfortable.  

 

She stepped out of the bedroom, feeling acutely weird. He was back in the kitchen, stirring and straining. The steam from the pasta had made his skin all glowy. Also, the freaking arms. His arms were beautiful. And those tattoos? Swoon-worthy. She didn’t even usually like tattooed men.  Darcy cursed her hormones inwardly. “It’ll just be a sec, sweetheart,” he told her. “Go ahead and sit.”

“You like that song?” she asked. He was playing “Agua de rosas” by Lila Downs. He grinned at her.

“Oh, yeah, I love it,” he said. “You like ranchera? I love Mexican music.”

“I saw her in concert once at Culver, but I don’t know enough about Mexican music,” Darcy admitted. “I just happened to go to a concert because it looked cool and I got a student discount and bought a CD in the lobby and immediately downloaded it all my devices.” He laughed.

“I spent some time in Mexico on a SHIELD job once, early in my field career, got very into traditional music and, uh, other things,” he said cryptically. “Let me play you some Chevela Vargas and Flor Silvestre, you’d probably like them a lot, if you like Lila Downs. They’re sort of her musical predecessors.”

“Great,” Darcy said, “I’d like that.” He stopped what he he was doing in the kitchen and went over to fiddle with his phone, replacing hers with it on the speaker dock.

“This,” he said, as a rich, raw female voice filtered through the speakers, “is Chavela Vargas. ”

“That’s fantastic,” Darcy said, as she listened and he worked.

 

She watched him plate the pasta and carry it over. “It looks wonderful,” she told him, as he set it down. He’d already put the parmesan on the table. And candles? How had he found their little tealights from under the sink? Why was he even bothering? “Everything looks nice,” she said, baffled that he’d gone to all this effort. “You didn’t need to go to all this trouble for me.”

“It’s no trouble, sweetheart. You gotta try this Lambrusco. It’s on the dry side. The other one is sweeter, it’s more of a dessert wine,” he said, opening the bottle and pouring her a glass. He watched as she drank some, seemingly intent on her response. Thankfully, it was really good.

“I love it, it even has bubbles,” she said. “Thank you.”

“I thought you might,” he said, smiling at her for a long second before he sat down. How weird, Darcy thought. She looked down at her food so she wouldn’t make weird faces at him or something.

“This is delicious,” she told him, after she’d had a few bites. The sauce was spicy and, well, hot. She sipped her wine and he grinned.

“Not too much heat for you, is it?” he said. _Oh, man, I cannot handle this level of accidental double entendre,_ Darcy thought.

“No, it’s really good,” she said, trying to sound neutral.

“You’re all flushed,” he said.

“Pale people hazards,” she admitted.

“Oh, yeah?” he said. “You have gorgeous skin. Here, put a little more Parmesan on that, it’ll mute the heat a little.” He passed her the dish with the big chunk of Parmesan, then laughingly got up and pulled his chair next to hers. He set their plates close together. “Let me grate that before you accidentally get your knuckles.” She watched as he grated. “Have you ever been to Mexico?” he asked.

“No,” Darcy admitted. “I only get to go places with observatories and they always seem to be cold. I’m trying to convince Jane that a Hawaiian observatory would be a cool place to go one day.”

“Once this class is over, I’ll have accrued some PTO that I need to use soon,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about where to go on vacation.”

“What are your options?” she asked.

“Hmm,” he said, “where would you go?”

“No idea,” Darcy said. “The last time I thought I was going to sorta have a vacation, Thor fell out of the sky.” He grinned and poured her more wine.

“That needs to change,” Brock said. For the rest of their meal, he told her wacky travel stories and talked about all the things he liked in Mexico—the music, the food, the beauty of the landscape. “Oh, man Izamal in the Yucatan is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Everything’s painted yellow, so the historic part of the city just glows at sunset. You’d love café de olla, too,” he said, forking some penne.

“Coffee?” she asked.

“It’s a spiced coffee with cinnamon and _piloncillo_ , which is basically a lump of whole cane sugar. It’s unrefined, so it’s different from any sugar you’ve ever had. It almost has a smoky, caramel flavor? Much richer than brown sugar. And you’d be spoiled for chocolate and vanilla once you’ve had Mexican chocolate.”

“That does sound really good. Do you speak Spanish?” she asked, curious.

“Yeah, that was the language I took in school, because my schools never offered Italian. I was a little lazy then, wanted to learn the easiest one,” he said, laughing. “We spoke Italian at home at lot, because my grandparents lived with us and they’d grown up speaking Italian with my great-grandparents, who never learned English all that well. So my Spanish has a very small, inconspicuous Italian accent, unless I work at it.”  He grinned when she laughed. They were sitting very close together, their legs practically brushing against one another. And he was being so attentive, Darcy thought, as he topped off her wine-- _did he just wink at me or I am I drunk, she wondered? I must be drunk. I feel all warm and like I’m grinning like an idiot, even when I try not to grin._

“Ummm,” Darcy said. Intelligently.

“Darcy, there’s something I want to tell you,” Brock said, leaning in close. For a moment, Darcy thought he was going to kiss her. She leaned in, too, mouth parting instinctively. _Was he really going to---_

From the apartment balcony, there was a sudden _thump_ accompanied by a roll of thunder. “My Lightning Sister!” Thor’s voice boomed. “We have returned!” His yell was accompanied by a series of high-pitched giggles.

“We’re very drunk!” Jane called, wrapping on the glass. “Let us in!”

“The trip of the field ended early!” Thor yelled.

“I’ll get that,” Brock said. Abruptly, he sounded annoyed. Darcy frowned.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him, reaching out to grab his forearm. He looked down at her hand, curled around his tattoo and his expression changed. She let him go, feeling like she’d overstepped.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” he said. “You are pale, aren’t you?” he grinned. “You pale like that everywhere?” he said, sounding playful, as he walked to open the balcony.

“Shouldn’t you know how pale I am, you practically saw me naked,” Darcy said to his back, remembering that he’d walked in on her.

He turned back to look at her grinning, as he swung the door open. “Only in my dreams,” he began, obviously joking, before Jane stumbled in and promptly puked on his shoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the worst time trying to decide what music would feature in this chapter and then decided it HAD to be Chavela Vargas. Of course, Brock is being cryptic about his SHIELD work, but it's a nice background explanation for how he might've ended up with a Santa Muerte tattoo, too.
> 
> Chavela Vargas was incredibly awesome. There are some parallels between her and Edith Piaf, in terms of them both being poor street performers-turned nightclub singers who became cultural icons and struggled with addiction. Vargas sang sad music that was traditionally associated with male singers and refused to change the pronouns to make them heterosexual; she eventually came out publicly when she wrote a memoir in her 80s. Playlist link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2aTTQQ_37kk
> 
> I also had trouble deciding what fragrance mist Darcy should wear, but eventually decided on this one, which is a.) wonderfully inexpensive, b.) my favorite fruity mist, it's amazingly delicious, like sangria, and c.) had a name that might be slightly awkward to admit to a hot guy. Layer it with a good vanilla lotion, if you feel the need to smell like dessert any time soon. https://www.fragrancenet.com/perfume/sofia-vergara/tempting-paradise-by-sofia-vergara/body-mist#310081
> 
> A recipe for cafe de olla, although even dark brown sugar is supposedly no match for piloncillo in flavor: https://www.saveur.com/cafe-de-olla-recipe


	9. Al Punto de Cajeta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos! Y'all are the best.

Whatever moment they’d been having was immediately snuffed out with Brock standing in a puddle of poorly-digested tequila shots. Darcy--used to Jane’s attempts to keep up with Thor--tossed Brock a roll of paper towels and hustled Jane to the bathroom with the Asgardian

“It’s okay,” Darcy told Thor, when he dry-heaved in sympathy as Jane prayed to the porcelain god. He couldn’t stand to watch someone else puke. “You go.”

“Thank you, my friend,” he said solemnly, swallowing a gag. He left the bathroom. She was holding Jane’s hair when she heard Thor boom, “is this pasta for everyone?”

“Yeah, sure,” Brock said from the other room. He sounded tired, Darcy thought. Had he really been about to kiss her? Damn. What was going on tonight?

“I love you,” Jane slurred.

“I know, you goof,” Darcy said.

“Thor loves you, too,” Jane said drunkenly.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said.

“I think Brock really loves you!” she said. Loudly.

“Jane, shh,” Darcy said. “He’ll hear you.”

“I’m sorry I puked on his shoes,” she said. There was a knock.

“Hey,” Brock said through the door, “you okay in there?”

“Yeah, you can open the door,” Darcy said. He opened it. He’d brought towels. “Thank you. So much. You’re perfect,” she told him. He chuckled. Darcy looked down. He was barefoot.

“I’m sorry about your shoesssssss,” Jane slurred, “that was my bad. It just happened.”

“That’s okay,” Brock said reasonably. “Thor’s eating some pasta.”

“No one say eat,” Jane pleaded, hiccupping. “Ow. That hiccup burned, Darce.”

“I know, poor baby,” Darce said, pulling Jane’s hair back with an elastic from the cabinet drawer.

“I’ll get you some water,” Brock said. He came back with a cup for Jane. “This will help you some,” he said. “Keep drinking water.”

“That sounded like a real recommendation,” Darcy said, as Jane sipped tentatively.

“Oh, yeah,” Brock said. He folded himself down on the bathroom floor next to Darcy and told her stories about STRIKE Alpha guys trying to keep up with Jack. “Nobody out drinks a six-foot Australian, ever,” he said dryly. “I’ve tried. It’s a fool’s errand, sweetheart.”

“Oooh, what happened?” Darcy asked.

He told her stories and kept her company for several hours as they nursed Jane. Finally, Thor tucked Jane into bed and the two of them sat on the couch for a minute. Thor had done the dishes for them, but Darcy gazed sadly at the snuffed out candles on the table. It was late. Brock sighed and shifted. “What’s wrong?” Darcy asked. “I’m keeping you up, aren’t I?”

“Maybe,” he said, “but I don’t mind, sweetheart.” He grinned.

“What did you want to tell me?” she asked. He rubbed his forehead.

“Well, uh, I’m technically over the smoking thing,” he said. “Probably.”

“Nuh-uh,” Darcy said. “No way, it takes two or three weeks.” She frowned at him.

“The, uh, HYDRA serums mean that I process faster. The last time I quit it only took seventy-four hours for the nicotine to leave my system,” he said. “Pierce used to be curious about stuff like that, so they ran tests.”

“I’m sorry,” Darcy said sincerely.

“Don’t be, the poison that almost killed me is what kept me alive during that building collapse,” he said. “Seems to be keeping me young, too. Ironic.”

“You don’t look a day over thirty-eight,” she reminded him.

“So you say,” he said wryly, grinning. Then his smile fell away. “I should probably decamp from your couch and the air mattress, though.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. She wanted to ask if he had to, but that felt clingy. She frowned. “Really?” she asked. “I thought you were staying longer.” _What happened to moving in and following me like a puppy,_ she wanted to whine. Possibly with tiny puppy noises and sad whimpering. Darcy realized she really wanted him to stick around. She was one-hundred percent on that. He was great fun to have around. Darcy would miss him if he left. Also, she really needed clarity on the whole almost-kiss thing. She gave him what she hoped was a cutely sad look. “You can’t leave tonight,” she said.

“You should get some rest,” he said gently. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“But the air mattress in my room misses you,” Darcy joked.

“You need sleep and I’d, uh, wake you up, if I sleepwalked or something,” he insisted, giving her a look she couldn’t decipher.

She’d hoped they could talk in her room. Instead, she lay in bed and listened to him take a shower in the guest bath and then what sounded like him scrubbing his shoes a little, before he moved silently out to the living room. The only clue was that she heard him sink down onto the sofa and his light snoring.

 

***

The next morning, Brock had already gone before Darcy woke up again. He’d taken all his belongings, too. She was bummed. She really wanted to talk to him. She was busy, though. First, she filed their PTO electronically, so they were technically off work for the day, then she made a hangover breakfast for Jane and delivered it to the bedroom. Next, she took a shower and called an Uber. Thor and Jane had left the car in Virginia, so she had to retrieve it while Thor tended to Jane. He was a fantastic caregiver once they’d entered the post-puking phase of the hangover, thank goodness.  “I could take you with Mjolnir?” Thor offered. “It would be much faster?”

“No, no,” Darcy said. “I can do it, you stay with her. Come get me quick if anything changes.”

“All right,” he said solemnly.

“Ooof,” Jane moaned from the bed, trying to chew dry toast. “I hate myself.”

“Well, yourself has the day off,” Darcy said, opening the ginger ale they kept in the back of the fridge for the two or three times a year that Jane forgot she couldn’t drink Thor under the table.

“Thank you, I love you,” Jane said grimly. “I’m sorry we crashed your romantic meal.”

“I’m not sure it was romantic,” Darcy said, sighing.

“Are you certain?” Thor said, a twinkle in his eye. “There were very many of the small candles.”

“Really?” Jane said, squinting and furrowing her brow. “I don’t remember those. You lit candles?”

“He did,” Darcy said.

“He’s definitely in love with you, then,” Jane said.

“Aye,” Thor said.

“You guys,” Darcy said, feeling herself blush, “shut up!” Thor laughed and Jane tried to laugh, but it hurt too much.

 

Of course, she couldn’t stop thinking about Brock. Darcy was stuck in DC traffic on her way back when an idea occurred to her: she could stop at a Mexican bakery and get something for him as a thank you. She felt like the evening had veered weirdly off course, although she still wasn’t sure if he’d really meant to kiss her, and she wanted to fix it somehow. She had felt something from him, but then it had gone when Jane and Thor showed up. In the daylight, it seemed less and less probable that she’d read him correctly. Maybe all that Lambrusco and delicious pasta and candles had gone to her head? But certainly, the poor man had made her a very nice meal, complimented her, been a great dinner partner---and then had his shoes puked on and stayed in a bathroom with her and a barfing Jane for two hours before crashing on her couch. That didn’t seem fair. She googled Mexican bakeries at a red light and then turned around. Thirty minutes later, she was walking into a delicious-smelling storefront. “How can I help you?” the woman behind the counter said.

“Umm, have a friend who loves going to Mexico and I wanted to get him something really good?” she said doubtfully. “Because he made me dinner and then my drunk roommate came home and puked on his shoes. How do I say I’m sorry about that in pastry form?” The guy working behind the counter started to laugh.

“I think you want conchas,” he said.

“What about _cajeta?”_ the woman said. “It’s like a caramel sauce, only richer,” she explained to Darcy. “Made with goat’s milk.”

“That sounds fantastic,” Darcy said. She left the bakery with a box of pastries--pineapple-filled empanadas, puffy chocolate conchas _,_ chorreada topped with piloncillo _\--_ plus two jars of dark golden cajeta. She wanted to try it, too. The woman who owned the bakery said you could put it on ice cream, fruit, crepes, anything. Even drizzled on a latte. She checked her clock in the car and drove to SHIELD headquarters. She knew—from his super detailed syllabus, ironically—that he had office hours today. With any luck, she’d catch him.

 

Darcy had concocted a conversation in her head in the elevator. She would give him the pastries and tell him they were okay to share, but that she wanted him to herself soon. Could she cook dinner at _his_ place? Meet him at a restaurant? He deserved an apology for the shoes, after all. An uninterrupted dinner. She’d been trying to remember exactly how he’d behaved. The winking and flirty behavior had been real, right? Of course it had. They’d spent a lot of time together and she wasn’t a total idiot, she could tell there was chemistry. She’d just give it a little push now. Mapping it all out made Darcy feel comfortable. She stepped off the elevator internally repeating _You can do this, you tased Thor_ as a mantra. His office was 4216. She passed 4210. Then 4212. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized the door to 4216 was slightly ajar. He was there. Darcy knocked. “Brock?” she said.

“He’s not in right now,” a female voice said, swinging the door open. It was the blonde woman from the other morning. Sharon. “Can I take a message?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe. She had her jacket off and had clearly been sitting in his chair. Her jacket was over the back. Sharon smiled at Darcy.

“I-I brought him Mexican pastries,” Darcy stuttered. Sharon’s presence felt oddly like a slap. It was like they shared the office. Like a couple. That impression was cemented when she spoke again.

“You’re bribing the teacher?” she said to Darcy. “I wish someone would bribe me.” She laughed airily and gestured to the paperwork on the desk. She was wearing a sleeveless shell top that showed off her lean, toned arms and slim pants, despite the fact that it was the end of January. Her long blonde hair was perfectly straight, too. “I can take those and give him a message, if you want me to?” she asked. “He’s going to be gone for an hour or two.”

“Just tell him Darcy said thank you for his help with Jane,” Darcy said, trying not to frown. She passed the box to Sharon, who set it on the desk, opened it, and ohhh’d.

“Oh, these look delicious,” she told Darcy.

“There’s a jar of cajeta, too,” Darcy said. “Mexican caramel.” She got the jar out of her bag and handed it to Sharon.

“Yum,” Sharon said. “I know I’m going to eat one of these before he gets back,” she said, laughing. “I’ve been on a diet all month. Maybe I can rearrange them so he won’t notice. Do you think I could get away with that?”

“Try one of the conchas,” Darcy suggested. They were sweet breads topped with a cookie crust. Sharon was biting into a chocolate one when she left the STRIKE offices.

 

“Oh my God,” Darcy said to herself, once she got in an elevator. It had suddenly dawned on her why Brock had abruptly “decamped” from her apartment: he’d reunited with Sharon, aka Miss Perfect. Sharon, who obviously had family money, judging by her expensive work clothes and perfectly highlighted hair. Sharon, Darcy imagined, was probably a cheerleader in high school, never bigger than a size four, hadn’t ever been single for more than two weeks in her entire adult life, and had majored in something really difficult in college, like microbiology, and graduated with honors. She never fell down in public and had a flawless social media presence with Throwback Thursday photos of herself doing study abroad in Spain, volunteering for charity, or skiing, unlike Darcy, whose social media consisted of photos of herself making weird faces or with dogs she met or both. Sharon never had frizzy hair or weird forehead wrinkles or got lipstick on her teeth or looked fat in anything. It was completely irrational, but Darcy really hated Sharon in that moment. Really, she hated everything that the Sharons of the world represented: the ability to make all that social bullshit look easy and to appear flawless at all times. It was wildly crazy of her, but she didn’t care that she was being unfair.

Darcy was so upset and preoccupied by her fictional Sharon bio that she pushed the exit door open, missed the top step, and went plunging down the row of cement stairs outside the building. When Darcy landed, she heard a sound she didn’t want to hear. The sound of her ankle popping and going very badly wrong. Several passing SHIELD agents ran to her in alarm when she yelled. 

Fifteen minutes later, she’d already phoned Jane and Thor, and the SHIELD health services doctor was telling her that she had a bad sprain and would need to wear a brace and use crutches for several weeks. Her puffy ankle throbbed. It was already bruising and turning greenish-yellow. “I used to sprain this ankle a lot as a kid," she told the doctor.

"Reoccurrences are common once you've had one sprain and it looks like you turn this foot out, supinate a little," the doctor said.

"Yup. This going to be fun at SHIELD PE,” she joked. The doctor looked up at her.

“You won’t be able to participate, I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll write you an out-of-class note that you can send to your instructors.”

“Thanks,” Darcy said, trying not to cry. Why did she feel sad?

***

“Why do you feel sad? Isn’t skipping PE a good thing?” Jane asked her that night. Darcy was in her bed, her foot elevated and surrounded by bags of ice. Jane had crawled in with her and they were eating saltines with peanut butter and watching re-runs on Netflix.

“Who says I’m sad?” Darcy asked.

“Your face does,” Jane said.

“I dunno,” Darcy said. She paused. “Brock’s back together with his ex, I think?”

“What?” Jane said, sounding shocked.

“I was bringing him pastries before I fell. She was in his office,” Darcy said. “Very tall, very blonde, perfectly dressed--the complete opposite of me.”

“But he’s practically living here,” Jane insisted.

“Not anymore, he told me he should leave last night,” Darcy said.

“Oh,” Jane said.

“Hadn’t you noticed that when he left this morning, he took all his stuff?” Darcy said. “Didn’t even leave his dirty socks, took them right out of the hamper. I was going to wash them with my donut socks.”

“Jerk,” Jane said sympathetically.

“Yeah,” Darcy said.

“I really thought he liked you, though. Everybody does. All of SHIELD says he’s crazy about you,” Jane said.

“You’ve been talking about that behind my back?” Darcy said, horrified.

“Not a lot, I swear! It’s just, uh, supposedly, you’re his type,” Jane said. “Like his ideal woman.” Darcy nodded, but she didn’t believe it. Who would believe his type was klutzy frumps with belly squish and frizzy hair? She sighed. Jane patted her on the shoulder and kissed her head. “I’ll email Jack your class note,” she said, “then you won’t have to see him or talk to him, Darce.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said. “I have enough to do with learning how to use the freaking crutches.”

 

***

Jack knocked on the door to Brock's office, pushing the door open. It was seven in the morning. Brock and Sharon were inside, working on their new project: coordinating SHIELD's overseas efforts with the CIA and the Joint Counterterrorism Task Force based in Germany, before their class.  Sharon was SHIELD's liaison to the CIA since the HYDRA Uprising--Fury had decided he wanted more spies watching his back, post-Pierce--and Peggy's great-niece had been working at Langley until now. She hadn't received her SHIELD office assignment yet. "Hey, man," Brock said. "Do you want a pastry?" There was a box on the desk.

"His secret girlfriend brought him Mexican pastries and caramel sauce yesterday," Sharon said, grinning. "He's trying not to eat all of them in twenty-four hours."

"I hear you making fun of me," Brock said, "but ain't nobody bringing you pastries, Carter."

"She's way young and much too pretty for you, you hound dog," Sharon said.

"I'm actually here about Darcy--did you get her medical note?" Jack asked.

"What?" Brock said, sitting up straighter. "What medical note?"

"She's dropped out of the class, mate," Jack said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mexican conchas: https://www.eater.com/2016/2/19/11054298/conchas-mexico-pastry
> 
> "al punto de cajeta"= the point when cajeta is done. Cajeta recipe: https://www.seriouseats.com/2016/04/how-to-make-goats-milk-cajeta.html


	10. This Message Has Been Deleted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos!

Darcy heard her cell ring in bed. She glanced at the screen. It was Brock. “Ughhhh,” she said out loud, silencing her phone. She rolled over and went back to sleep. A few minutes later, Jane staggered into the room sleepily. 

“You okay?” she asked Darcy. “I heard an  _ ugh.” _

“Brock just called, I’m not ready to talk to him yet,” Darcy said morosely.

“What if we go to the observatory this week?” Jane suggested. As part of her SHIELD perks, Jane had research privileges at a remote observatory in West Virginia. Keeping Darcy away from SHIELD headquarters might prevent any awkward run-ins.

“How can we get there?” Darcy asked. 

“Mew-Mew? Or car? You pick,” Jane said. She could tell Darcy was down.

“Car. I don’t know if my ankle is up for a Mew-Mew landing,” Darcy said. She paused. “But I still love you, Mew-Mew!” she called, in case that hurt the hammer’s feelings. 

 

Darcy silenced her phone on their road trip and tried to pretend everything was normal.  _ Fake it ‘til you make it,  _ she thought. For her, that meant singing along to Madonna with Thor and stopping for snacks a lot. She’d had white cheddar popcorn and was sharing mini Snickers from a gas station with Thor when she realized Brock had called nine times. Nine times? Did they cut his pay if students dropped out or something?

 

“I’m going to listen to my messages,” Darcy told Jane.

“Uh-huh,” Jane said, glancing at Thor. He raised an eyebrow. Jane did a micro-expression that was her version of a European-style shrug. Something between a ‘what can we do?’ and an ‘oh, well shit.’ 

 

She played the first message:

 

_ “Sweetheart, this is Brock, I just found out you got hurt. Why didn’t you call me from health services, huh? I would have taken you home, helped out— _

“Because Sharon, you dope,” Darcy muttered, hitting a number on her phone. There was a beep.

“This message has been deleted. To retrieve this message, press two,” a smooth voice said. “To play the next message, press—” Beep.

_ “Darcy, baby, it’s me. Where are you? I went by the apartment and you weren’t there. Michonne told me you’d closed the lab for a week, so I thought you’d be resting—” _

Darcy sighed. Beep. “This message has been—” Beep.

_ “Sweetheart, will you please call me? I’m worried—” _

Darcy scoffed. Beep. “This message—”

_ “Darcy, where are you, for fuck’s sake—” _

Beep. “This mess—”

“Delete, delete, delete,” she said, poking the phone repeatedly. After a series of beeps, she finally got the empty mailbox notification in that oddly detached robot voice.

“Maybe you should call him, so he knows you’re alive and will stop calling?” Jane suggested gently.

“Aye,” Thor said in a subdued voice. Darcy nodded, making eye contact with Thor in the rear view mirror. He looked sad, she thought.

“I’ll text,” Darcy said. “Eventually.”

  
***  
  


Forty-eight hours and multiple deleted voicemails and text messages from Brock later, Darcy’s resolve to ghost on him was wavering. It was 3am. She wouldn’t call, she’d text. That was more low-key, right? She tapped away at her phone. 

 

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** I’m okay. We’re doing work at the satellite observatory this week.

 

She curled up and tried to sleep, but then her phone dinged. Immediately.

 

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** In fucking West Virginia? That one?

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** Yes.

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Come home, let me take care of you.

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** No, not a good idea.

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Darcy, please…

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** I’ve got Jane and Thor. I’ll be okay. I’m sure you’re busy.

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** I hate this. I don’t like you being hurt and far away. Will you call me?

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** It’s 3:12am

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** When can you talk?

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Darcy?

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** We are gonna have a talk when you get home. 

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** Did you just boss me around?

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Goddammit, you need appropriate supervision. I’m not leaving my girlfriend in the care of an absent-minded semi-hungover professor and the future king of Asgard on hillbilly mountain.

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** Oh, I’m your girlfriend  _ now? _

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Yes? I mean, I thought we were getting there…

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** What does Sharon say? The one who SEEMS like your actual girlfriend and is always around?

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Carter? Bullshit. She’s a work friend, we’re working on a joint project for Fury. She’s not ever been my type and she’s practically Cap’s niece, are you drunk now? Jane better not have given you some damn moonshine or some shit.

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** I SAW YOU FEEL UP HER ARM IN THE GYM HALLWAY. 

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** I stabbed her when I was undercover in HYDRA, sweetheart. She was just showing me the scar.

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** Oh.

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** When I saw her in your office, I thought….

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** You’ve got to be kidding me? Carter?

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** I was so distracted, I sort of fell.

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** This is why I can’t leave you alone.

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** I want you, you crazy woman. You’re making me insane.

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** I am?

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Yes. I’ve been trying to keep my hands off you while you were my student, but that’s over now. You’ve been warned.

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** Oh.

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** I didn’t know about the stabbing. I feel bad now. I was sort of thinking mean thoughts about her out of jealousy.

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Guilty, huh? 

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** A little. 

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Yeah? That’s good.

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** What? Why?

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** I’m looking forward to guilting you into sexy favors later.

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Many, many favors.

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** Brock.

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Should I come get you now? I want to start this phase of our relationship.

 

Her phone rang. “I can’t leave in the middle of the night,” Darcy said abruptly into the receiver.

“I don’t want you to,” he said warmly. “I miss your voice. Talk to me.” He sounded different.

“What is going on with you?” Darcy said. “Did you smoke?”

“No, baby,” he said, chuckling. “I’ve just been thinking about all the things we can do while I’m assisting in your recovery now that I’m not your instructor of record. You got ice and elevation?”

“Yeah,” she said, wigging her foot. She had cool gel pack strapped to her ankle.

“Uh-huh,” he said.

“I don’t have much else, though,” she said. That was honest. She was wearing a nightshirt and underwear.

“No,” he said throatily. “Oh God, why are you in West Virginia, for Christ’s sake? I want to touch you.”

“Where?” she asked, feeling a weird giggle bubble up in her chest in response to his heated tone.

“Everywhere,” he said. “Starting with that poor, sad ankle and working my way up, baby.”

“Really?” Darcy said, surprised by the mix of tenderness and heat in his voice.

“Why are you acting so surprised?” he said. “What, you didn’t notice that I lit candles the other night and kept refilling your wine?”

“I didn’t think--” Darcy began.

“Didn’t think what?” he said.

“That you wanted me,” she said. 

“Why?” he said, baffled.

“Because you’re  _ you  _ and I’m  _ me _ ,” she said. “I’m not sexy the way that you are. You have an eight-pack and I’m, well, squishy.”

“Sweetheart,” he practically moaned into the phone. “I love your squish.”

“You really do?” she asked, sitting up a fraction.

“Sweetheart, I’m SHIELD’s most well-known squish enthusiast. I love squish. Women who have squish know that I love squish,” he said. 

“Wha-huh,” Darcy said, processing out loud. He sighed through the phone.

“This would be easier if I was there,” he repeated, “but then your squish might get squeezed.” Darcy could practically hear his grin. “I thought you knew. Jack was paranoid you’d report me to HR, I spent so much class time watching your squish jiggle on the bikes,” he said. “He knows how I feel about soft, curvy women.”

“Oh my God! You told him I was too skinny for you seriously,” Darcy said, realization landing with a  _ plop _ .

“Not that seriously. I wouldn’t kick you out of bed for eating crackers, but you’re on the less squishy side compared to some of the women I date. I said it mostly as a deflection for his nagging. The other guys are always ragging me, so I decided to throw them back in his face, sweetheart. I never meant to make you feel bad,” he said. “Ever.”

“Michonne wants to have your babies because—because everyone knows you like squish,” Darcy said, her mouth forming an  _ O. _

“She does?” he said, laughing.

“Or did, this was pre-Cameron,” Darcy said. Rumlow laughed.

“I mentor him and he steals my squish mama and our future babies,” he said cheerfully.

“Huh?” Darcy said. 

“People are brainwashed by the media into saying they don’t like squish, but every time I bring a gorgeous woman to a work thing, I got five or six guys asking me where I met her, is there a dating site specifically for squish enthusiasts, how I pick up women,” Rumlow said. “Lots of men really love squish, they’re just scared of the social stigma. Like Cameron, trying to pick you up with cake.”

“You weren’t side-eyeing my cake, you were side-eyeing him?!” she said. “I thought you were judging my cake—”

“I taught him the cake trick, that’s my move,” Rumlow said. “People appreciate it when you offer them dessert, even if they don’t want any. You thought I was judging you? I thought you were upset about Michonne and I flirting.”

“No, I set that up to disrupt class,” Darcy said.

“You did?” Rumlow.

“She came to borrow a book from me,” Darcy pointed out.

“Jesus, that book,” he said. “I needed three cigarettes after that.”

“What about your girlfriend then?” she asked. “I assumed it was Sharon.”

“Girlfriend?” he said blankly.

“You told Michonne you’d met someone,” Darcy said.

“Yeah, you,” he said.

“Me?” she said, astounded. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she said. “We were together almost nonstop for a week!”

“You said you liked Whalen, I was trying to be a friend,” he said. 

“Oh,” Darcy said. “Technically, you did tell me in your sleep.”

“What?” he said.

“That’s what you said when you fell asleep in my bed, that you loved my squish,” she said. “I thought you were talking crazy.”

He started to laugh. “You’re crazy,” he teased. “Do you not see how gorgeous you are?”

“I’ve seen you without a shirt, okay?” she said, laughing a little. They lapsed into a brief, gentle silence. 

“Touch your squish for me?” he asked suddenly.

“Okay,” she said, slipping her hand over her belly. It didn’t do anything for her, but he’d said it with a hungry intensity. “It’s very...squishy?” she offered, grinning.

“Luscious,” he said, groaning, “going to feel so good to hold onto when I’m inside you. Move your hand down a little more,” he said in a quiet voice, “between your legs, baby.” He kept giving her instructions, for how she should move her fingers and imagine it was him touching her. “Feel good?” he asked.

“Mmm-hmm,” she said. Just the sound of his voice in her ear was enough to turn her on. “But I want to touch you, kiss you.” She described exactly what she wanted to do with him, starting with long kisses and then trailing her tongue over the planes of his body. “I want to trace you with my tongue,” she admitted. His breathing had accelerated as she talked.

“I need to get to you,” he said. “Use your hands, baby. Tell me what you’re doing.”

  
***

When she woke up in the morning, Darcy almost believed she’d dreamed it all. Except she’d fallen asleep with the phone on her pillow. She shook off her phone-sex haze and stumbled into the lab space Jane was using in her brace and crutches. The crutches hurt. Doors were tricky, too. Thor met her with her rolling chair and then rolled her across the room and made her coffee. “You okay?” Jane said.

“I sort of reunited with Brock on the phone last night,” Darcy admitted.

“Sexually?” Jane teased. At Darcy’s guilty expression, she laughed for two minutes. “That’s hilarious. I take this was better than those times you tried to fool around with Ian via phone and fell asleep?”

“So much better. Did you know he liked squis--curvier women?” Darcy said.

“It’s been discussed,” Jane said, now looking guilty herself.

“Is that what you meant about me being his ideal? Why didn’t you tell me?” Darcy said.

“Because, you were down and I didn’t know if there was a tactful way of saying that the man only dates women bigger than a size ten,” Jane said. “Not without making you potentially feel bad, you know?”

“Oh,” Darcy said. “Dammit, my low self-esteem created an imaginary problem, didn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Jane said. 

“But now that we are in Virginia of the West, I shall investigate the beverage that they call moonshine!” Thor said happily.

“Oh, no,” Darcy and Jane said in unison.

“No?” Thor said, looking like a sad puppy.

“I think we should table it until I’m less hungover,” Jane said.

“And I’m less injured,” Darcy piped up. Thor nodded.

 

Darcy was still working when her phone rang again. “Brock?” she said, seeing his name.

“I’m outside,” he said. 

“You’re here?” she said, delighted.

“Hillbilly gate guard won’t let me in,” he grumbled.

“We really need to work on your issues with West Virginia,” she said. Thor got up.

“I shall let him in,” he boomed, exiting the lab.

“I don’t have issues with West Virginia, I’m just pissed they’ve stolen my girl,” Brock said. “I brought that cajeta you got me. I thought you might have ideas on where to put it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I *just* joined tumblr, so let me know if I should bumble my way into following you, pretty please. Also, I have no idea what I'm doing. None. Find me at: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/yespumpkindoodlesthings


	11. Holiday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos!

Brock followed Thor into the lab, scooped Darcy up his arms, kissed her, and looked at Jane. “I’ll forgive you for hiding her in West Virginia if you give her the day off,” he said. Darcy leaned up against his neck and inhaled the smell of his cologne, nuzzling the slight stubble.

“Go,” Jane said. “We’ll leave tomorrow. I’ll have all the readings I need by then, anyway.” He nodded and carried Darcy out of the lab.

“Where do you sleep?” he said.

“Make a left,” she told him, pointing towards the hallway. “Where’s my cajeta?” she teased.

“Coat pocket,” he said.

 

He was fussy about making sure her foot was comfortable on the bed before he started taking his own clothes off. “Hurry up,” Darcy teased, licking a little of the caramel off the jar lid and setting it on the nightstand. “I want to get this on you. I should have thanked the lady at the store for including this little metal spoon on the tag, it’s very convenient.” He looked up from where he was taking his pants off and made a face at her.

“You ran from me,” he said. “We could have done this in your good bed, days ago, instead of a lumpy mattress in a cement block observatory room in the sticks.”

“If I can forgive you for not actually dating Sharon, can’t you forgive me for running away?” Darcy said, grinning. He was so gorgeous. She raked her eyes from his lean calves to those strong biceps and felt her mouth water in a way that had nothing to do with with cajeta. He was gorgeous and he wanted _her_. It was almost dizzying. “You’re so pretty,” she told him, as he shucked off his briefs. “You can’t blame me for being in despair.”

“Despair?” he said, grinning back as he crawled in bed. “You were in despair?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she said, “deep, deep sadness.”  

“How deep?” he teased suggestively, straddling her carefully and unbuttoning her shirt.

“Oh, I don’t think any other man could have filled my sadness,” she said. “Where should I put the cajeta? Do you have ideas?” She ran her hand down his chest, exploring the deep v muscles over his hips. He sucked in a breath.

“Wherever you want, sweetheart, as long as I get to put it on you, too,” he said, moving his eyes between her exposed cleavage and where she was scooping a little up with the spoon.

“I think I’m going to start here,” Darcy said, spooning a little onto his collarbone and smearing it. He had an amazing collarbone. She’d never realized they could be sexy.

“Yeah?” he said.

“And then I’ll work my way down,” she said, leaning up to lick off a little of the caramel. “I apologize in advance if I accidentally….nibble.”

“Oh God,” he moaned, when she started to suck. Darcy worked her way down his chest, convincing him that her ankle was well enough that she could crawl on top of him. She was licking cajeta off his stomach when she looked up and saw the hungry expression on his face. He groaned when she stopped using her tongue.

“You okay?” she said, grinning. She could feel his erection brushing against her body, but she’d been purposefully ignoring it to tease him.

“I’ve wanted you for weeks,” he said in a choked voice. “Couldn’t--couldn’t stop thinking about you, about this,” he said.

“Hmm,” she said. “As good as you imagined?”

“Better,” he said.

“We’re both going to be so sticky,” she said thoughtfully.

“Darcy,” he groaned.

“Well, toss me those condoms, Hot & Ready.”

  


***

_Sometime later in Tulum…._

 

“This is the best trip,” Darcy told him, looking from their table to the ocean. “You spoil me.” He’d brought her to Mexico to celebrate her getting the boot off. They were eating at the little restaurant at their small hotel. Their cabana was mere feet from a gorgeous natural cove. She could actually see the ocean through the windows of their room as they slept under mosquito nets.

“I spoil you?” Brock said wryly. He’d taken her to several different places in the Yucatán peninsula, but they were ending the trip here. Tulum was a coastal town near the site of some famous Mayan ruins. Everything about the Mayan temples and buildings was beautiful. They’d been that morning. She’d gasped as the green forests you went through opened into a clearing  and she’d caught sight of the blue, blue sky and ocean behind the temple. It seemed like paradise on Earth.

“Yes,” Darcy said. “I feel like a princess.”

“A princess?” he said, looking like she was the funniest person he’d ever seen. “Sweetheart, this is not that fancy.”

“A princess in a movie from the 1960s, maybe,” Darcy said. “Like James Bond? Or that Elvis movie in Acapulco. Ursula Andress was in both of those. Isn’t that funny?” Their hotel had a low-key vibe that made it feel like an old movie: tile floors, stucco walls, hammocks. Also, the food was great. She was ninety percent sure Brock had picked the hotel because of the views and the fact that the chef at Piedra Escondida blended Mexican and Italian cooking. But her Yucatán-style shrimp risotto was yummy.

“Sure,” he said, chuckling.

“I can’t believe I got to go on an entire trip without anything exploding or aliens,” Darcy said, delighted. “And it never snowed. I was warm _the whole time._ This has been the best ten days of my adult life.”

“Even when you fell out of the hammock?” he teased.

“That was totally your fault, trying to squeeze my squish and tickle me at the same time,” she said, stubbornly. He smirked.

“Come sit in my lap, Squishy,” he said, gesturing at her. “You haven’t tried my tequila shrimp. You want another margarita? Some dessert?”

“Yes to all of that,” she said happily, moving over to sit in his lap. He smiled lazily and blinked at her.

“I could see if we could stay another night?” he said, stroking her hip. “If you like it that much?”

“I do, it’s my new favorite place,” Darcy said, swiping a tequila shrimp. She chewed and grinned at him. “That’s good.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. He’d slumped back at little in his chair and was eyeing her like she was dessert.

“What’s your favorite place we’ve been together?” she asked, curious. She thought he might say one of the places from this trip. His face went a little funny. “What?” Darcy said.

“Sweetheart, uh,” he said, “I just had a moment of realization.”

“A moment of realization?” she said.

“West Virginia,” he said in a strangled voice. “Don’t ever tell anyone that my favorite place is West fucking Virginia.”

 

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I picked Piedra Escondida because the hotel looked AMAZING online. It's just serendipity that the on-site restaurant does Italian-Mexican fusion food. But loooooook at this place! Oh em gee, I want to go now.
> 
> https://www.piedraescondida.com/en/gallery
> 
> Also, the Mayan temple ruins at Tulum. So stunning: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tulum


End file.
